


The Right Words

by turndownforwhat



Category: 2AM, 2PM (Band), DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, GOT7, K-pop, Super Junior, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Not Beta Read, Objectification, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9833756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turndownforwhat/pseuds/turndownforwhat
Summary: Taecyeon isn't as great as he thinks he is.





	1. Part One

“I just feel like there’s something missing.”

 _Missing_. Taecyeon stares at his guidance counselor’s pinched brow, the utter disappointment covering the man’s face. _Wait,_ he thinks. _Missing?_ He leans forward in his seat on the other side of Mr. Park Namyong’s desk. 

“What do you mean, ‘missing’?” Taecyeon shakes his head and scowls, disbelieving. His eyes dart between his college application and Mr. Park’s wince. Mr. Park drops the papers on his desk, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mr. Park raises a hand in what he must think— _must think_ — is a calming gesture. “I mean... It’s perfect. You’re valedictorian, you’ve got your soccer, jazz band, chemistry fair awards…” 

Taecyeon’s brow continues to furrow, and that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only deepens when Mr. Park doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, the man leans over and opens a drawer, and Taecyeon cranes his neck to see. Mr. Park sets a flimsy book down on top of Taecyeon’s application. 

Taecyeon reads it upside down— _The Horizon_?

“Suncrest High’s literary magazine,” Taecyeon realizes out loud, lifting his gaze back to Mr. Park’s. The counselor nods, cracking a tiny smile Taecyeon’s way. 

“Good, you know what it is.” 

Taecyeon withholds the urge to snort. He makes it his mission to know what _everything_ is. He sighs and leans back in his chair, pivoting it small degrees this way and that as Mr. Park carries on. 

“Listen, like I was saying: you have everything right,” he gestures at the application beneath the magazine. “But this is the number one college in the country. All the other seniors applying here? They have everything right, too.”

Taecyeon purses his lips and feels his chair line up against his back, his shoulders slump. So what? They were nothing like him. If they had everything right, he had everything _better_. He bites his tongue and doesn’t voice his thoughts. He simply nods, poker-faced, and Mr. Park continues. 

“I think you should hold off on sending in your application.”

“What?” Taecyeon hears himself shout, and he quickly shuts his mouth, unwinds his hands from clenching on the arms of his chair. He’d been working on this application since sophomore year. All his hard work— “The earlier I send it in the better.”

Mr. Park raises a hand to silence him, and Taecyeon backs down, remembering himself, remembering that this is a school counselor, the very one who will pen his recommendation letter when the time arrives. His breaths are still coming, harsh and fast from his burning chest. Mr. Park smiles again, a calm laugh leaving his throat. The sound of it makes Taecyeon feel like a child.

“It’s _September_. The application is due in March. Decisions come out in May. You have plenty of time, and you’re 90% of the way finished.”

Taecyeon scowls, eyes narrowed. _90%?_ “I _am_ finished,” he counters in a remarkably even voice, given how irritation rips through him like a livewire. Mr. Park grins at him again and shakes his head. 

“No, you’re not.” He plants his fingertips down on the surface of the magazine and spins it so it’s legible, facing Taecyeon. Taecyeon curls his lip down at it.

“I want you to submit some work to the magazine. Spice up your application. Anyone can ace the standardized tests or get MVP. A lot of students can play notes on a sheet of music.” Taecyeon’s stomach clenches with each accomplishment Mr. Park ticks off, because those are all his. He’s done all that. And he’s fucking proud of it.

He glares down at the magazine, grinding his teeth together as Mr. Park leans in over his desk, his voice dropping just above an intense whisper. 

“But writing a poem? A short story? That’s artistry, and that’s what schools like this want. Sure, you can memorize a textbook, get a perfect score,” he shrugs as if that’s all nothing. Taecyeon wants to throw everything in sight. Park doesn’t stop— his eyes do not waver on Taecyeon’s. “But can you _think_? Can you _create_? _Connect_?”

Taecyeon clenches his jaw, and his gaze flicks down to the magazine again, the vibrant explosion of colors and lines that come together— green foliage, a black road, swirls of red, yellow, pink, and orange compose a sun shining over a row of dark mountains. The ball in his chest starts to unfurl into a cooler, calmer emotion. _Of course he can._

Mr. Park holds his gaze for a second, and Taecyeon sighs hard through his nose. The counselor nudges the magazine closer to Taecyeon with the tip of two fingers.

“Find out this year’s theme. If your work gets accepted, that’s something to add to your application. Get in touch with the editor. He’s a senior, too.”

Taecyeon knows that. He flicks his tongue over his lips and nods begrudgingly, and drops his eyes to scan the tiny lettering below the title. _Edited by Kim Minjun._

*

Kim Minjun lives down the street from Taecyeon. He has, since forever. They rode the same bus through elementary and middle school, and were always in the same homeroom. Minjun always had the vocal solos at the joint jazz-band and jazz-choir spring concert, and Taecyeon always accompanied him on his sax. They’ve had at least one class together every year, and this year it’s Advanced European Lit. 

Minjun’s locker is across the hall from Taecyeon’s, in the 500s. A bottom locker, which probably helps since he’s short. Taecyeon’s is 1132, a top locker.

He’s in the hall when he notices Minjun in his periphery, and he shuts his locker and squeezes the combination lock secure. He turns, sliding his history book into his bag as he tries not to look like he’s been waiting for Minjun to show up since lunch ended. 

Kim Minjun— strange isn’t even the first word that comes to mind when Taecyeon seldom spares him a thought. His hair is dyed the color of copper and his ears are pierced. But he can do that, since he’s one of the older kids in their class because of his birthday.

Taecyeon stands and observes: Minjun heaves a heavy sigh and crouches down across the hall, throws his bag against the lockers, and quickly turns the dial on his lock. People mill through the hallway between them, and through the flashes of window he gets as each body passes by, Taecyeon watches him try the combination and jerk at the lock repeatedly, without success.

He snorts and hoists his bag on one shoulder as he makes his way over. He leans against the lockers, peering down at the top of Minjun’s head. He opens his mouth, but stops short. He doesn’t know what to say, and Minjun doesn’t seem to notice him, even though he’s just inches away. 

Taecyeon rolls his eyes at himself and clears his throat loudly. He has class, soon, and he can’t be tardy. Minjun turns at the sound but doesn’t look up.

“Sorry,” Minjun mutters, detached and not sorry at all. He reaches out and pulls his bag away from the locker he’d propped it against. Taecyeon blinks, and flicks his gaze down to the locker. 

“Uh, that’s not my locker.” 

“Oh. Ok.” Minjun shoves his bag back against it. Taecyeon sighs, and leans back a bit so he can see Minjun’s face. Minjun bites his lip and shakes his head in irritation, turns the dial on his lock back to zero, and starts the combination again. 

Taecyeon waits until it clicks and Minjun tugs it open before speaking again. He rubs his fingers over his eyes beneath his glasses and just gets to the point. He doesn’t want this to go on any longer than it has to. 

“Have you set a theme for _The Horizon_ this year?”

Minjun pauses, and finally tips his head back to look up. The shock at seeing Taecyeon is evident in how far his eyes widen, how his mouth forms into a little ‘O’ before he shuts it. _Good_ , Taecyeon thinks. He’s not the only one who finds this weird, that this is the first time they’ve spoken since sixth grade.

“Um, no—” Minjun blinks rapidly, the confusion slowly clearing from his face. He stares into his locker, and Taecyeon counts the five seconds that pass before Minjun angles his head back up, and their eyes meet again. Taecyeon reaches up to press his baseball cap down more tightly on his head. “Why?”

Taecyeon shrugs once, and states the obvious. “I want to submit work.”

Minjun’s eyes widen again. “You. Want to submit. Work,” he repeats, and Taecyeon manages to lift an eyebrow despite the muscle spasm right below it. Is that so strange?

“Yeah, so— anyway,” he scratches at his jaw and pushes himself away from the lockers. “Tell me when you figure out a theme, or whatever.”

Minjun just stares at him in that deer-in-headlights manner he’s had since kindergarten, no words, no nod, just _blank_ — and Taecyeon begins to step away. _Cool_ , he thinks, and turns to make his way to Mrs. Bong’s class down the hall. He hears his own voice cycle through his head again. _Tell me when you figure out a theme, or whatever._ That either went well, or horribly. He guesses he’ll find out soon enough. 

*

Jackson has flat feet. Taecyeon scowls and bends over to clutch his knees, panting under the hot, late summer sun. Sweat drips from the tip of his nose and into the green grass. Wooyoung’s navy socks come into view as the younger guy slows to a stop next to him, and Taecyeon glances up to catch his eye. The same thought flashes through Wooyoung’s gaze, and Taecyeon jerks his chin in the slightest of nods. 

Jackson can’t play midfield. Not with those feet. 

Coach fires his whistle, and Taecyeon pants and stands upright with his hands on his hips. He summons what energy he has left and plods through the rest of the defensive drills, his lungs and every muscle in his legs on fire. He closes in on Jackson, cramping his space and pressuring him to give up the ball, and it takes almost nothing for the intimidated freshman to lose his footing and Taecyeon to possess, over and over. 

Wooyoung pulls Jackson aside as Taecyeon goes for his water, and Taecyeon listens with a heaving chest as he guzzles a whole bottle down. 

“Try to be more aware of your space,” Wooyoung is saying, like it’s coming from Taecyeon’s own mouth. Wooyoung drops his hand on Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson nods, clutching his stomach as he tries to catch his breath. They both look weary in their dingy white practice jerseys. Taecyeon blinks the sweat from his eyes, breathing hard as he turns away. 

Wooyoung isn’t smart— he’s the type of guy who is happy with straight B’s on his quarterly reports even though his dad teaches advanced physics. But soccer is in his DNA, in his legs, and Taecyeon knows: he’ll make a great captain next year. 

He is still panting when practice ends and Coach passes him the floor to speak. Something heavy settles in his chest when he casts his eyes over each of the players’ sweat-soaked faces. He swallows it and tells them the same thing Joon told them, the first practice of Taecyeon’s freshman year. _Every season should be better than the last._

The juniors get it. He sees understanding dawn on Wooyoung and Kwon’s faces, that there is always room to grow, and hard work is just as important as winning. Resolve glimmers in their eyes, determination. The younger ones have to play their best, not just for themselves, but for the older teammates who will take these final games onto the next stage of their lives after graduation. 

The next stage… 

*

That leaden feeling lingers, a stone in the pit of Taecyeon’s stomach the Friday afternoon a week after that first practice. He yanks the chain lock and frees his bike from the rack outside main building, clenching his jaw. Until his meeting with Mr. Park, he thought he knew what his next stage would be. College. A few years of work. Business school. And then who knew what? He could rule the world by then. Maybe start a family. 

He’s just turned to roll his bike onto the sidewalk and head home when he has to stop. Minjun stands in front of him, clutching at the strap of a huge bag hanging off one of his shoulders.

Taecyeon blinks. “Hi,” he says, wrinkling his brows in surprise. Minjun sighs and scans the area around them, where students trickle off campus, loud and ready for the weekend. 

“Farewell,” Minjun exhales, briefly looking up at Taecyeon’s face. Taecyeon stares at him, confounded. He just said ‘hi’ and now Minjun is saying fare—?

“That’s the theme this year,” Minjun says quickly, and Taecyeon straightens, his front tire rolls forward a few inches. 

“Oh,” Taecyeon mutters, and Minjun nods. “That’s kind of… sad?” He chuckles, and immediately stops when Minjun’s eyes flick up sharply to meet his own. Minjun just shrugs, starting to step away. 

“It’s my senior year, so…” he drops off, and Taecyeon is suddenly annoyed and has the urge to remind Minjun it’s his last year, too, but he wouldn’t make everyone write about it. Minjun adjusts his bag and turns completely, his entire face closing off and effectively ending the conversation. Taecyeon sighs, and tightens his grip on his bike handles. 

“Ok,” he says, eager to have the last word before Minjun can leave. He doesn’t want to be the one still standing here, in this one square on the sidewalk under the greying sky while the school empties. So he swings his leg over his bike and settles on his seat. He doesn’t look back as he rides away. 

*

Taecyeon already has a couple of ideas by the next week. In first period, he notices Minjun slink past the teacher just after the bell rings and to a seat in the back. Part of him wonders if that happens everyday, and the other part stares at the chalkboard, thinking just how _stupid _of a theme Farewell is.__

He scribbles a few bullets in the margins of his notes as lecture begins, because that’s the first thing he learned in freshman writing class: brainstorm. Mrs. Lee’s gaze trickles over him, and he looks her in the eye, far, far away from whatever she’s saying about the new literature unit they’re starting. 

_Mythology_ , she’d scribbled on the blackboard. Easy enough. 

A sharp *plop* tugs at Taecyeon’s attention, and he glances to his right where Nichkhun sits, slumped in his desk, pencil rolling across his notebook. His drowsy eyelids flap erratically, and the corner of his mouth glistens with drool. Taecyeon snorts under his breath, and Nichkhun shoots him a glare as he dives to grab his pencil from the floor. 

Mrs. Lee purses her lips in Nichkhun’s direction, and Nichkhun answers with that winning smile of his. She turns and resumes her lecture. 

This was the first class Taecyeon could take with his best friend since starting on the advanced track from middle school— aside from Gym. 

“It’s a lot of reading,” Taecyeon had warned him last semester, during course selection. Nichkhun had turned to him, sly smirk in place. 

“Dude,” he’d chided, snickering as he filled out the form. “Ever heard of _Cliff’s Notes_?” 

Taecyeon shakes his head, biting his lip to stop his grin as Nichkhun shuffles around in his seat, trying to keep himself awake. Mrs. Lee makes her way to the calendar posted at the front of the room, marker in hand. 

“...we will discuss on Thursday,” she announces, and Taecyeon tunes in to jot a reminder down in his steno pad. Discussion, he writes, and drifts back out. 

_Farewell._ He could write about the soccer team, and all the friends he’s made. Or, his real friends, like Khun and Seulong. He adds that to his brainstorm. 

The door opens, and the class instantly perks up, grateful for the distraction. This time Taecyeon almost drops his pencil. 

Park Shin Hye walks in, but her tits are the first thing he sees— round and bouncy under her tight yellow top, and fuck she didn’t look like this last year. Taecyeon turns and catches Nichkhun’s eye. Nichkhun licks his lips and quirks a brow at him. 

“I’m awake,” Nichkhun whispers from the corner of his mouth as Shin Hye makes her way to Mrs. Lee’s side, one hand tucking her hair behind her ear as the other passes over a white slip. Taecyeon clears his throat and shifts more upright in his seat, bracing himself with his forearm atop the desk. His eyes track her ass in blue jeans as it sways back to the door, and then it’s gone. 

He’s warm under his collar, and a pleasant burn flicks around behind his navel. 

“Minjun,” Mrs. Lee calls, looking up from the slip in her hands. “Guidance office.” She smiles, and Taecyeon taps his pencil against his paper, tipping his head to the side as Minjun’s sneakers squeak from the back of his row and finally past him in the blur of a black hoodie. He takes the slip from Mrs. Lee, muttering something Taecyeon can’t pick up, probably thank you. 

Taecyeon watches him take the hall pass from where it hangs by the door, and then he’s gone, too. 

The remaining fifteen minutes tick by without incident, aside from Minjun returning just before the bell. Taecyeon stands and stretches his arms over his head. Nichkhun lets out a puff of air in triumph, patting his own chest as the other students pack up to leave. 

“You catch that pair of aces?” Taecyeon smirks, zipping up his backpack, Nichkhun scoffs and turns his nose up. 

“Hey, man. I’m taken. These eyes are for my girl only.” 

Taecyeon chuckles, removing his glasses and wiping at the lenses with the hem of his shirt. He gets it— that whole faithfulness thing. But even if Taecyeon was with a girl like Nichkhun’s girlfriend, like Tiffany, he knows he couldn’t resist a look at something sweet. He pauses, suddenly remembering. Shin Hye and Tiffany were both juniors. If they knew each other… He opens his mouth to ask— 

“Uh, Taecyeon.” 

Taecyeon turns at the new voice. Minjun is coming up the row again, clutching his bag by one strap at his side. His eyes flit over to Nichkhun briefly. 

“I’ll catch you later, Taec.” 

“Yeah,” Taecyeon shoots over his shoulder, and Nichkhun drags himself out of the door. Taecyeon moves toward the door, his face tilted in Minjun’s direction as Minjun follows him into the hallway. 

“I got called to Mr. Park’s office,” Minjun says, glancing around as they move through the throng of students weaving past them. Taecyeon waits, staring. 

“O-kay,” he shrugs. Why did he need to know that? 

Minjun’s eyes find his once again, and then they blink at him, a mixture of impatience and annoyance on his face. “He told me to help you with your writing.” 

That makes Taecyeon stop, and Minjun bumps right into his back. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Minjun starts, looking him up and down once they come face to face. Taecyeon cocks his head and narrows his eyes. 

"Help me... with my writing," he sounds the words out slowly, like a translation. 

"That's what he said," Minjun bites at his lip and peers at him in disbelief, just on the verge of an eye-roll. 

"Sounds like tutoring," Taecyeon comments in a sour voice. "It's just, I'm usually the tutor." Usually meaning always. 

Minjun stares at him blandly, his eyes going a little wide. "Well you're not," He bites back, and he must hear it, that tart snap of his own voice that sends a whisper of a thrill through Taecyeon’s body, because he cringes slightly and ducks his head. "Not this time," he utters, as if to soften the blow. 

Taecyeon smirks, and he concedes that single point to Minjun. 

"Fine," he sighs, peering around them, but still not moving. 

“Fine,” Minjun blinks up at him, dropping his chin. “Look, I need to get to class.” 

Taecyeon looks him over, considering, but it’s still there, like an itch, and he can’t let it go. “I've never been tutored before,” he explains with a curt shake of his head. 

Minjun’s gaze is steady on his before his whole face opens up and he laughs, soft and incredulous. Taecyeon narrows his eyes. Was something funny? 

Minjun inhales deeply, and then releases a sigh, and his eyes shutter in a lazy blink, that amused smirk still drawing his mouth upwards. 

“Let me know when you’ve got something,” he slaps a hand against Taecyeon’s shoulder and drifts past him, head down and chuckling to himself. Taecyeon squints, turning to follow Minjun with his eyes as the small smattering of students still in the hallway swallows him up. The bell rings overhead, and Taecyeon realizes: this will be the first tardy of his life. 

* 

After the first slew of tests and essays mid-October, Taecyeon finally gets a chance to work on his poem. He googles a rhyme scheme he likes and busts out the thesaurus, tongue between his lips as he scribbles the title at the top of a blank page. _Goodbye, Team._

It takes less than an hour to finish the thing, and he exhales and hurls his pen down. He leaves it on his desk and showers before heading to bed. As he shuts his eyes and drifts off, he smiles to himself. _Poetry is easy._

Minjun actually shows up before the first period bell, and Taecyeon calls out his name to catch his attention. He turns, sleepy-eyed, to pause near Taecyeon’s desk. His baggy grey sweatshirt and dark jeans complete the whole I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look, and not a muscle twitches in his face when their eyes meet. 

“I uh, I finished my poem.” 

“Oh,” Minjun sighs, blinking at him. “Okay. Just give it to me later.” 

Taecyeon follows Minjun’s line of sight to find Mrs. Lee shutting the classroom door behind herself, and turns back to him with a brief nod. Minjun purses his lips and slumps away to his seat in the back of the room. 

Later is _later_. 

Minjun is in the wind after first period, and Taecyeon can’t find him the rest of the day. He’s walking his bike up his own driveway when he has an epiphany. He turns and peers over his shoulder, the house across the street like a shiny beacon. _Yes_ , he reasons with himself in his head. It is a little weird to go to Minjun’s house— but this poem is dying to be read. 

He tucks his notebook under one arm and rings the doorbell, slipping his hands in his pockets and waiting. The _ding-dong_ survives as a faint echo on the cool wind and finally fades out. Taecyeon stares at the front door, leans sideways to peer at the windows. He knocks three times. Nothing. 

“The hell…” Taecyeon mutters under his breath, disappointed. Minjun should have been home by now, too. He glances down at his watch, turning on the porch steps to leave. 

“Taecyeon.” 

Taecyeon lifts his head in mild surprise. Minjun is standing on the lawn, brows furrowed. 

“That you ringing my door?” 

Taecyeon chuckles and scratches at the back of his head. 

“Yep.” He smiles and lifts his notebook, wiggling it around. Minjun glances at it and sighs. He jerks his head to his left. 

“Over here.” 

Taecyeon drums his fingertips against Minjun’s makeshift worktable, dropping down on the edge and stealing a look around the garage-turned writing sanctuary. Minjun’s brow tightens over the top of Taecyeon’s notebook as he begins to read. Silence spreads between them, and Taecyeon smirks, awaiting compliments as he casts his attention to the rest of Minjun’s setup. 

On the table is Minjun’s laptop, a stack of his own notebooks, pens, some stray CDs. A cooler sits against the wall a few feet away, next to a row of storage bins and old power tools. 

And then comes a sound he does not expect— a laugh. He turns slowly, and yes, Minjun’s head his down, his eyes crinkled at the corners— he is actually laughing. 

Taecyeon’s smile slides right off his face, and something in his stomach shrivels. Minjun drops Taecyeon’s poem with a sharp _fwap_ ; and shoots him a look of comic disbelief. His mouth trembles to hide a grin. 

“Can you name a human being who actually feels this way?” 

“What?” Taecyeon responds automatically, because the question is just absurd. Minjun squints at him. 

“Do _you_ feel this way?” 

“No,” Taecyeon pulls a face. He made it up. “I made it up.” 

“So why write it? This isn’t real. This is— _bony_. I don’t want to chew on this. I don’t even want to spit it out, because I can’t taste it.” 

Taecyeon narrows his eyes at what he’s sure are metaphors and shrugs. “What the fuck are you saying?” he mutters, and Minjun chuckles again. Taecyeon feels a corner of his mouth slide up, slightly amused at being caught in his own bullshit, for once. Minjun crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Try again. But next time, write about you, or something you like.” He shrugs, lowers his eyes to his laptop screen and fiddles with his trackpad. “Or someone,” he adds, not looking at Taecyeon when he reaches for the poem again. His irises track from left to right as he skims it again, and then he shudders and shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes. 

He presses the notebook back into Taecyeon’s hand, and Taecyeon purses his lips, tears the page out, and crumples it. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” he groans and lifts himself onto his feet. He raises his arms overhead to shoot the wad of paper into the trash— and misses. He turns, sheepish, to find Minjun looking up at him, sort of pouting. He blinks once, then gestures in the corner with his chin. 

“Pick that up.” 

Taecyeon snickers and does so, wandering back over to Minjun’s table with pocketed hands. He drops his eyes to Minjun’s laptop. 

“Are you entering?” He feels stupid as soon as the words are out. Of course Minjun is writing. He _has_ to. 

But Minjun only nods, his face brightening, and Taecyeon’s shoulders sag with relief that he sees no scorn. 

“I do every year,” Minjun shrugs and stretches his arms out onto the table, thumbs curling out and hiking his sleeves over his hands. “This is the last one, so…” 

Taecyeon nods, staring at the back of the computer. He sweeps his eyes around the garage. “So you just sit in here all day, writing poems?” His eyes find the stack of dusty, busted tires, the oil stains on the floor. He imagines it stinks of burnt-out motors when there isn’t a breeze coming in. 

“Not just poems,” Minjun says, and Taecyeon swings his head back around to hear more. But there is none. Minjun looks away as soon as their eyes meet, off to the wall where some cabinets are. Taecyeon reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck. 

“Right. Well,” he lifts his eyebrows, at a loss. Minjun nods, still not looking at him. Taecyeon wonders if he should say bye, but it sounds too formal. _See you later?_ He won’t see him later— he’s heading home, and he’ll have dinner and shower and go to bed and— _See you tomorrow_ flits through his brain, but while he definitely will see him in first period, they aren’t friends, so they won’t really _see_ each other. 

He sighs and just turns for the garage door, ducking under where it’s half-open. His fists are clenched in his pockets when he steps through his own front door, and he hears his mother’s voice calling his name. 

“Yeah, I’m home!” He calls back, glad to be. Dinner smells great. 

* 

Taecyeon peers down at his hall-pass as he passes by the campus library. Jaejoong baked their physics class a cake shaped like an atom, and Mr. Jang tasked Taecyeon with dropping of the remnants in the faculty lounge. But on his way back, he lingers near the library windows. There is a class inside, and the lights are off, which means _video in progress_. It’s probably the one for freshmen, teaching them how to use the catalog. He glances around. The halls are deserted. He clears his throat and steps inside. 

The librarian, Miss Kim Hwayoung glances his way sharply. He lifts his hall-pass and smiles, and when she recognizes him— Taecyeon, soccer captain and valedictorian, district-lauded saxophone player, she grins and waves before turning back to her class. 

He hurries back to the literature section and makes his way to the school’s publications. All the yearbooks dating back to the stone age are there, available for checkout, along with other books different clubs put together. He scans until he sees those belonging to the literary arts club. He pulls down three— last year, the year before, and the year before that, and he hurries to the self-checkout desk where he scans them. 

Miss Kim is still teaching, unsuspecting of the fact that he has _no_ permission to be in here whatsoever, because why would Ok Taecyeon have to sneak around? 

He grins slyly, only to himself, and finishes up, then leaves the library quietly. He drops the books off in his locker, and whistles back to physics. Mr. Jang only smiles when Taecyeon settles back down in his seat at the front of the room. 

It’s almost 8:30 when he finishes the rest of his homework after dinner. 

Taecyeon sits down on his bed with the oldest magazine. The editor was someone different, back then. He furrows his brows over the table of contents and he notices one entry— _Alive, by Kim Minjun, Freshman_. He flips to the page and reads it. 

The words are pretty, but they don’t make much sense. It’s like everything that comes out of Minjun’s mouth— in another language. He reads it and he re-reads it, until he forgets what he’s seeing. Are these feelings? He sighs, rubs his eyes, and tries again. Nothing. He slams the magazine shut and hurls it on the floor. He shuts his eyes— sleepy. Before he finally drops off, three lines repeat in his mind. 

_Even when I’m in a bright place, I can’t see the light._  
_When this night passes and the darkness stops  
_ _I’m alive— I’m alive and breathing._

* 

Taecyeon chains his bike to the rail and loops his other backpack strap over his arm, stepping onto the sidewalk leading inside the main building. He shuts his phone off and slides it into his pocket. 

“Hey, Taecyeon.” 

He glances up at the sound of Minjun’s voice— he’s sitting a few feet away, on the low brick edging containing the lawn that slopes gently upwards toward the school doors. Minjun is surrounded by some others, and they all stare at Taecyeon, under their hoodies, dyed hair, and their glittering eyebrow piercings. Minjun watches him silently, and Taecyeon blinks. 

“Hey,” he says, unsure whether Minjun can hear him or not. He doesn’t stop walking— he looks at the ground until he’s up the steps and through the doors. The skin under his arms prickles with perspiration, and a muscle in his jaw twitches incessantly. He grabs the books he needs from his locker, and when he walks into Mrs. Lee’s class he remembers— Minjun is in his first period class. 

But so is Nichkhun. He lingers at the pencil sharpener with his backpack still on before he chooses a seat, and finally Nichkhun shuffles in and they lock eyes. 

“Sup, man.” 

“Sup,” Taecyeon echoes, and they settle next to each other like always. Minjun comes in not a minute later, chin down and eyes down as he quickly darts to the back of the room. Taecyeon clears his throat and turns to talk to Nichkhun before the bell rings. 

“You got your notes from yesterday?” Nichkhun whispers, as the room starts to fill with the rest of their Advanced Lit class. Taecyeon nods and flips to the right page in his notebook. He slides it over, and Nichkhun grins. 

“You slacking?” Taecyeon teases, earning a snort from his best friend. 

“My girl distracts me.” Nichkhun wiggles bushy, suggestive eyebrows at him, and Taecyeon laughs with a shake of his head. Nichkhun and Tiffany started dating last year, after Nichkhun took an art class on a whim and met her the first day back from summer break. 

“You do the reading last night?” Taecyeon asks, tapping his pencil on his desk, eyes flicking over Nichkhun’s face skimming notes. Nichkhun shrugs and shakes his head. Taecyeon purses his lips, considering. If he had a girlfriend, would he study as much as he does now? 

Could he handle both? Be a boyfriend, and valedictorian? The bell sounds, shrill overhead and curtailing any thoughts that aren’t _school_. He peers around to the blackboard, where Mrs. Lee has materialized, chalk in hand. She scribbles the title of this week’s book in white: _Grendel_. 

It didn’t take Taecyeon long to finish it. It was about a monster who lived in a cave with his mother, written in old, archaic language in the style of a poem. An epic. It was boring. 

Mrs. Lee turns to face them with a sweet, merciful smile and starts firing away questions no one is ready for. Well, Taecyeon has to answer a lot of them when the rest of the class remains silent, like Mrs. Lee knows she can count on him to be correct. She can, of course— but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. 

Nichkhun slumps low in his seat, not making eye contact with the teacher as if it’ll stop her from calling on him. Taecyeon watches the clock tick towards the next hour, and the minute hand drags slower and slower the closer it gets to the end. Mrs Lee sits at the edge of her desk, dog-earing the page from an excerpt she just read aloud. 

“Why do this?” She tucks loose strands of her ponytail behind her ear, peering around at all of them. “Why rewrite a popular story about a hero from the villain’s point of view, instead?” 

She waits, her eyes intense and curious. The sentiments are largely unrequited. Many eyes drop to desks, pens scratch aimlessly so as to appear engaged. Nichkhun pulls a face and dips his chin behind his collar. Taecyeon stares right at the teacher, tapping his pencil, anticipating the inevitable— 

“Taecyeon?” She smiles, and an instant of pleading vulnerability crosses her face. Taecyeon experiences a moment of pity for her— pity for all teachers. He wets his lips and pushes his glasses up from where they slid down the bridge of his nose as she elaborates. “Why do you think Gardner would want to tell Grendel’s story, after Beowulf’s is the only one we’ve ever known?” 

Taecyeon sighs, and flicks one thoughtful brow up as he considers what he remembers reading. “Well, it’s a common literary technique. A parallel novel.” He scratches his chin and cocks his head as he rethinks the last bit, “Parallel poem, in this case.” 

Mrs. Lee nods and smiles, and Taecyeon waits for her to agree and wrap up the discussion. She folds her hands over her thighs, and surprises them all with the tiny wince that creases the edges of her eyes. 

“Sort of what I’m getting at, but not quite. Let’s dig a little deeper.” Her eyes travel over the room, away from Taecyeon’s, and something like dread fills Taecyeon’s stomach. The corner of his mouth twitches in irritation— and disbelief. “Minjun. Why do you think Gardner did this?” 

A whole five seconds of silence ensues, and Taecyeon angles his head to the back of the room to see Minjun where he sits, little tired circles beneath his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair and peers down at his book, propped open to some middle page. Taecyeon sighs, and inwardly cringes in secondhand embarrassment. From the looks of Minjun, he didn’t read the book. 

“Well, it’s a parallel,” he repeats, uncertain, and Mrs. Lee nods. He fusses at the edge of one eyebrow with a fingertip before lifting his eyes from the book again. “In _Beowulf_ , Grendel is strictly a monster. In here—” he lifts the book a fraction from his desk, “—Grendel is just as human as the rest of us.” 

Taecyeon freezes, and fabric and papers rustle as other students turn to tune in as Minjun speaks. 

“He has emotions, and speech unlike the others in his cave. He seeks meaning for existence just like humans do. He’s just as frustrated with the world as Beowulf, and tries to be like men. The humans reject him and try to kill him, because— to them— it’s impossible for a monster to be anything but a monster, and Grendel eats them because he’s hurt by that.” 

Minjun doesn’t look at anyone in the room, but he stares down at his desk, seeing something, eyelids fluttering nervously, like little worker bees. 

"I think Gardner wrote Grendel this way to mirror the conflicting personalities within all of us. Human, monster, and everything in between. There aren't just the two..." he plants his hands over the surface of his desk, draws strange air diagrams only he can see. 

Taecyeon wants to see them. He wants to understand this now, the way that Minjun does, somewhere beneath the envy creeping around in his stomach. 

"Grendel loves, he hates, he craves humanity just as much as he craves killing. That grey area is something that we all have." 

Taecyeon doesn't take his eyes off Minjun’s face, but he's curious to see Mrs Lee's expression. Is this what she wanted? 

Minjun carries on, sitting up straighter in his desk, but keeping his eyes on his hands. He peers down at the pages of the book, and Taecyeon’s chest clenches with the sudden desire to _know_. All of it. 

Minjun’s voice is soft, and delicate— but there’s something in it that forces the hairs on the back of Taecyeon’s neck to stand on end. His hand closes into a fist on the surface of his desk, and he watches Minjun’s mouth form the next words that leave it. 

“I think Gardner is trying to say that even monsters can be human.” He drops his gaze and leans forward in his desk as he continues, a bit more quietly, “And humans can be monsters.” 

Taecyeon hears his own breathing, the room is so quiet. In the background of blood rushing in his ears, Mrs. Lee’s voice bounces to him, but distantly. A muscle in his neck burns, turned as he is, watching as Minjun bites at his bottom lip and stares at the back of his copy of the book. 

Mrs. Lee’s voice finally leaves her, a perplexed sigh of, "Yes." 

The bell shrieks overhead, and around him students hurl themselves from their desks. Something slaps Taecyeon’s shoulder, hard, and he turns with a sensation like ice water hitting his face. Nichkhun passes him a weary grin. 

“That was agony,” Nichkhun groans, pulling his backpack on and standing. “Catch you at lunch?” 

Taecyeon swallows and nods, and in his periphery he sees a saggy black hoodie. He turns to find it just as Minjun moves through the door and disappears in the swarm of class change. “Yeah,” he mutters, and Nichkhun smiles in satisfaction, before he, too, is gone. 

Taecyeon sits there for a moment, and at last rubs his hands over his face, tracks it down to cover his mouth. He hears people laughing outside, and the slow _swipe_ , _swish_ of Mrs. Lee erasing the board, but he can’t quite move to leave. He’s all too aware of the heat lingering too close to his skin, the thudding of his pulse, and the hardness in his jeans. 

* 

The first snowfall of the year comes in November. Taecyeon thinks of climate change the instant he sees white fluff along his window sill Tuesday morning. He props open the window and the frigid blast washes over him, immediately cooling his sleep-warm skin, freezing him awake. 

There's a slight dusting of snow covering the lawn, and it's so thin it looks like cobwebs. Taecyeon sighs and turns to get ready for school. 

He leaves earlier than usual, ignoring his mother’s voice as she calls his name. He moves through the door with his bike and rides to school, gritting his teeth against the cold wind on his knuckles and the flakes hitting his face. 

Students drag themselves across the main sidewalk leading to the doors, disappointed that school is not canceled. He finds Nichkhun by his locker, hungry, and Nichkhun just regards him with a sly smile before handing over a cereal bar. 

First period, Mrs. Lee passes out the book test for _Grendel_. He bubbles in all the multiple choice answers in less than five minutes, and only pauses when he sees the essay section across the bottom. Two options await them for fifteen points: 

Describe three characters and tell how they relate to the plot of _Grendel_ as a whole. Easy as pie, Taecyeon thinks. Apple pie. 

Option two: Why do you think Gardner wrote Beowulf’s story from Grendel’s point of view? Use three examples from the text to support your opinion. 

Taecyeon blinks. He figured this would be on the test. He thinks back to what Minjun said— he's pretty sure everyone who's looking at this option is. Humanity. Monsters. The in-between stuff. 

He sighs and starts writing. He's gotten his thesis statement down when the door opens, and a cute girl Taecyeon has never seen before comes in, her dark ponytail swishing behind her head like pom-poms. 

Mrs. Lee peers up when the girl leans down to speak to her. She passes her one of those white guidance office slips. Taecyeon glances back down at his test when the girl leaves. 

He finishes up and hands in his paper, pausing to stretch as he returns to his desk. In the last desk of his row, Minjun shuffles and angles his legs like he's about to get up. Taecyeon lingers by his own desk, watching as Minjun bites his lip, stares at some part of his test before finally pushing himself up. 

Minjun’s eyes start to rise and Taecyeon looks down immediately, inching closer to his desk as Minjun squeezes behind him through the two rows. 

"Ah, Minjun..." Taecyeon peers furtively in the direction of Mrs. Lee's voice, and he sees her slip that guidance card into Minjun’s hand. Minjun peers down at it, and without another word, he leaves the room. 

* 

By the end of November, there's enough snow that Taecyeon has to dig the shovel out of the backyard shed. He bundles up in his thickest coat, and he moves as much snow as he can from the driveway, so his mom and dad can get their cars out without a hitch. 

Soccer practice is canceled for the second week in a row, but they still have workouts. 

"This is our last winter as seniors," Seulong remarks to him one day, and a light bulb goes off. Taecyeon peers around the gym, breathes in the smell he's grown accustomed to these past years: sweat, dirty socks. Rubber and bleach. 

"Yeah," he mumbles, suddenly thinking of the theme for this year’s literary magazine. "The last winter." 

It takes him almost the whole day to get something written down. He tries to remember what Mrs. Lee said about iambic pentameter but decides against it at the last second, when it becomes more of a chore than anything else, and he’s satisfied with the page and a half of verses he’s managed. He doesn’t even try this time to give his poem to Minjun during school hours. 

As soon as he gets home that day, he parks his bike in the entryway and slings his bag over one shoulder before heading across the street. His boots crunch through the snow gathered around Minjun’s house as he leans over and bangs on the garage door already lifted a few feet open. 

“Hello?” Minjun’s voice calls out. Taecyeon hesitates before answering. 

“It’s me. Taecyeon.” He bends down and wiggles a hand underneath the door in a wave for good measure, and he thinks he might hear a distant laugh. He smiles to himself as a moment passes, and then a mechanical whir breaks through the cold and the garage door slowly rises. 

“You got something for me?” Minjun asks as soon as Taecyeon huddles under the door once it’s up to his waist. He sniffs and passes his notebook over. Minjun takes it with a wry glance his way, then gestures to something at Taecyeon’s back. Taecyeon turns to see a chair that wasn’t there last time. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, scooting forward and leaning his elbows on Minjun’s table. He lets his backpack slide onto the floor, watching as Minjun comes around the table and sits behind his computer like before, holding Taecyeon’s poem up in front of his face. A tiny wrinkle appears in his nose as he begins to read, and sure enough, the corners of his lips start to tremble. 

Taecyeon scoffs and slaps his hands atop the table, exasperated. 

“What, now?” 

Minjun mashes his lips together to contain his smile, but the mirth sparkles in his eyes and the apples of his cheeks. Taecyeon sighs, caught between annoyed and amused— again. Minjun clears his throat to read aloud. 

_“Keep on trying to be the last one standing_  
_‘Til the game is over, always demanding_  
_Don’t look back, don’t throw it out  
_ _Cause you know that’s what we’re about!”_

He slants a shrewd look at Taecyeon over the edge of the notebook, and Taecyeon is slightly reminded of the sexy librarian porno Khun showed him last week. He shakes his head to clear the image, and tunes back in to hear Minjun asking— 

“Are you just messing with me, now?” 

Taecyeon snorts, incredulous, wounded. “No!” He spits, leaning back in his chair. It creaks under his weight. He cocks his head at Minjun and stares him down. “Are you any better?” 

Minjun’s eyebrows rise in sudden surprise. “Huh?”  


“Even when I’m in a bright place, I can’t see the light—” Taecyeon recites, all the bitterness he can muster in his voice, because the words are beautiful even if he doesn’t have a clue what they mean. 

Minjun groans under his breath and rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Seriously?” 

“—When this night passes and the darkness stops,” Taecyeon continues, even as Minjun tries to talk over him— 

"For real? You memorized—" 

"I'm alive..." 

“—my old poem?” 

“...I’m alive and breathing.” 

Minjun shuts his mouth, and his eyes narrow in obvious irritation. Taecyeon smirks, knowing he's pushed a nerve. He leans across the table, leveling Minjun with a challenging stare. 

"No one in the world is that fucking sad,” He looks him up and down. “Not even you." 

Minjun narrows his eyes. "You don't know anything about me." 

"I know that you're clinically depressed judging by your stupid poems. It's weird." Taecyeon shrugs one shoulder, frank. 

Minjun's lips thin, and he settles back in his chair, not saying a word, and Taecyeon just can’t help himself anymore. 

"Do you like, eat ice cream or anything? Do you do anything _happy_?" 

Minjun snorts and rolls his eyes. 

"You're so annoying," he breathes, lifting his hands over his eyes and sighing from his whole body. Taecyeon chuckles and reaches forward to slide his notebook back in front of himself. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

**** 

The week before holiday break, Taecyeon perfects it. He changes the title, though. _The Final Winter_ , and he adds an extra verse. 

Five minutes before first period starts, he sidles up to Minjun's desk in the back row and lays his notebook on top of Minjun’s things. Minjun flashes his eyes up at him, a skeptical slant on his mouth. 

Taecyeon narrows his eyes and tries to hold back his triumphant grin. 

Minjun scoops it up and he reads— and as he reads, his eyes get smaller and squintier. More people file in, and Nichkhun comes and slaps a hand on Taecyeon’s back. 

"Hey," Taecyeon says, and he turns back to watch Minjun read. He leans forward on his palms on the desktop, waiting. "So?" He prompts when it takes too long and Minjun just stares, slowly lowering the notebook. 

Minjun reaches up and rubs at one eye with a finger. 

"I mean it's fine," he says, but Taecyeon doesn't like the sound of that. _Fine_. 

"What's wrong with it?" 

"Same as last time. It needs more feeling." 

Taecyeon stares down at him and then grabs his notebook. 

"Whatever," he sighs, resigned. He turns back and heads up the row and sits next to Nichkhun. 

"Poetry?" Nichkhun asks, and Taecyeon just shrugs. 

"Apparently not." 

Nichkhun chuckles. "Let me write it. See what he says. He won't know you didn't do it." 

Taecyeon snorts, "You're such a dumbass." 

"Yeah, but I can write a sick rhyme," Nichkhun remarks just as Mrs. Lee walks in. 

"Good morning everyone. I'm going to hand back your Grendel tests. If you wish to make corrections, I'll give you half credit." 

Taecyeon taps his pencil on his desk. 

"Even the essay section?" Someone asks. 

"Even the essay section," she affirms. 

Taecyeon’s eyes double in size when his test lands on his desk. _98 percent_. 

"What the..." he mumbles under his breath. His eyes track over the multiple choice— no red. He flips to the back, where he wrote his essay and there it is. _-2_. 

He fumes throughout the rest of class, staring at the bold red underline on a chunk of his last paragraph, the flowy script in the margins telling him, _yes, but what else?_

He doesn't hear any of the questions other students ask her, but he does catch that she'll put _Grendel_ questions on the final, and that there will be an essay. Great. Another 2 points to fuck up his average. 

Around 5 ‘til she lets them take the time to pack up, and chatter begins. Nichkhun turns to him with a jerk of his chin. 

"Lemme use yours to do my corrections." 

"I didn't get a 100," Taecyeon comments, words like acid on his tongue. 

A delay, and then, " _What?_ " Nichkhun exaggerates. He snatches Taecyeon’s paper from his desk and skims it. "Oh you got all the multiple choice right. I don't give a fuck about the essay." He snorts, and shoves Taecyeon’s test into his bag. "I'll give it back at lunch." 

Taecyeon nods, then turns to peer at the back of class. Minjun is sitting in his desk, flipping through the book in his lap. Taecyeon pushes himself up and makes his way over. 

He sees the paper— 100. He snorts. This has to be a joke. 

"Nice," he comments, and Minjun peers up at him with an idle shrug. 

"I liked this book." 

"Yeah," Taecyeon did, too. 

Minjun peers up at him, blinking. "You wanna bring your stuff over my house? I can look at your writing." 

Taecyeon looks at him, then shrugs. "Yeah. Sounds good." 

"Okay." 

Minjun smiles, and the bell rings. Taecyeon doesn't have to think to smile back. 

“Wanna catch a movie with me and Tiffany later?” Nichkhun nudges him later at lunch, shovelling fries into his mouth. Taecyeon takes a bite of his cheeseburger and shakes his head. 

“Going to Minjun’s. Poetry,” he comments, before diving in for another bite. Nichkhun just furrows his thick eyebrows at him and drops his mouth open, all fries and ketchup. 

“Bro. You’re ditching me for Shakespeare?” 

Taecyeon snickers, tipping his soda straw to his mouth and guzzling nearly half in one go. “You ditch me for Tiffany all the time.” 

Nichkhun inches back in his seat, blinking quickly and clearing his throat. “Well shit, I didn’t know Shakespeare was your girlfriend.” He reaches out two greasy fingers and pinches Taecyeon’s cheek. “I’m so happy for you, man!” 

“Ow!” Taecyeon bats his hands away, and Nichkhun just chuckles and starts in on his own burger. “Whatever,” Taecyeon mumbles, leaning on his elbows, staring at the messy remains of his burger. He wets his lips, flicking his gaze to Nichkhun for an instant before dropping, and then lifting it again. “What do you and Tiffany do, anyways?” 

Nichkhun lifts an eyebrow, his mouth curling in a dirty smirk. “What don’t we do?” 

Taecyeon chuckles, shaking his head. Nichkhun eats, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. 

“She can’t come over my place ‘cause her dad doesn’t like it. So I go over there, as if that makes a difference. He’s never fucking home.” 

“Yeah,” Taecyeon agrees just because, but he wants to know more. “And then what?” 

Nichkhun shrugs one shoulder. “We make out,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And yet, a slippery feeling flits around in Taecyeon’s stomach, something like shock. He knew Nichkhun and Tiffany were together, he just… didn’t know what _together_ really meant. Outside of movies and porn. But was that anything like real life? 

“Where?” Taecyeon asks, turned now, engrossed. 

Nichkhun snorts. “What do you mean, where? Her room, her couch, the kitchen. She’s got a pool in the backyard, and lemme tell ya— over the summer she let me take her bikini top off. Tits everywhere. It was gold.” 

The image that sparks up— Taecyeon’s afraid he’ll get a hard-on. He clears his throat and forces a cheeky smile, finishing off his burger. He stares off into the distance, napkins and food wrappers rustling in the background as Nichkhun cleans up next to him, but in the forefront of his mind a gentle cadence repeats: _You wanna bring your stuff over my house?_

Taecyeon sighs, sending Nichkhun the faintest of smiles as his friend takes both of their trash away. Nichkhun’s words start to funnel into his brain, a slow, steady trickle. He pushes a hand through his hair and glances around in confusion. Why did the last ten minutes feel so much like studying for a test? 


	2. Part Two

The garage door seems to lift in slow motion. Taecyeon bites his lip as he waits, fingers twitching at his side. Nichkhun’s words flutter through his mind, random images pieced together, puzzles of skin. Some fit together. Others don’t. He can’t make it stop.

His stomach clenches, tangled with sudden nerves. He wipes his damp hands against his jeans when the garage door hits the half-way mark. Only when he ducks underneath does he register the sound of voices.

“...I was afraid it would close up after Mrs. Lim made me take it out.” Tall. Long black coat and leather boots, back facing the door. Taecyeon doesn’t recognize him. Minjun is looking up at the guy, hand still poised to open up the garage.

“It looks _good_ ,” he says, with a cheeky smile. His eyes flash in a way Taecyeon has never seen, and the wicked edge to his voice… Taecyeon’s back brushes against the door and his chest tightens. Minjun’s gaze finds him over the stranger’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says. His tone is different. The other kid turns to look at him with a dark scowl. He’s one of those guys sitting with Minjun outside of school that morning— every morning. A silver piercing glitters from one furrowed eyebrow, and another one sits between his nostrils, the shape of a sharp-edged horseshoe. 

“Hey,” Taecyeon mumbles, and the kid doesn’t say anything. He just turns back to Minjun. 

“Call me later?”

Minjun smiles, and Taecyeon scuffs the ground with one shoe. “Later, Chansungie.”

Taecyeon squints as _Chansungie_ broods past him, pale as a sheet of paper in the swath of black clothes he wears, eyes level with Taecyeon’s just before he bends beneath the door and is out of sight.

Minjun clears his throat, and Taecyeon follows him to the work table where school books are spread. There’s space cleared on one side of the table for Taecyeon, the same beat-up office chair set aside for him. Taecyeon shrugs his backpack down atop the table and begins to unload his stuff. Minjun looks on as he’s rolling his chair forward, but he doesn’t comment. 

And Taecyeon doesn’t either. It’s presumptuous, he knows, to bring all his stuff over when he’s just here to work on his writing. But he did it. Minjun leans down for a moment to fiddle with a cord on the floor, and Taecyeon’s eyes flit over him quickly and take in what they can: hoodie, the glint of metal in his ear, red hair.

Like any of it’s changed since yesterday, since this morning. His eyes widen and he grits his teeth, irritated with himself. He slides into his seat with a heavy sigh. Because he hears Nichkhun’s voice in his head: _We make out_. He swallows and lowers his gaze to the relative safety of his textbook. 

_I’m in trouble._

“Was he a writer, too?”

Minjun glances up at him briefly from behind his computer screen. The yellow light dangling overhead glows upon his face and makes his eyes shine bright, little bulbs on their own. “Oh, Chansungie?”

Taecyeon nods reluctantly, and Minjun just shrugs. 

“Sorta. Did you get a chance to look over your poem?” Taecyeon lifts his brows at the swift change of subject, and then just shakes his head.

“Nah, not yet.” He inhales deeply and flips open his physics textbook. “I need to finish up my real homework first.”

Minjun snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, ok.” His voice drops off into a low chuckle, and the rhythm of his typing ensues.

Taecyeon’s interest piques at the sound, and he peers once at the stapled packet at Minjun’s side and then at back of his laptop screen. “What are you working on?”

“History take-home test,” Minjun wrinkles his nose and sighs dramatically, pure disdain in his voice. _Suspicious._

“On your computer?” Taecyeon hedges, sure he’s being lied to. 

Minjun shoots him a mischievous look, tiny smile in place, and Taecyeon idly rubs at his jaw because _yes_ , this is trouble. Minjun drops his head to one side and releases a resigned breath, eyes betraying only a smidgen of guilt. 

“I forgot my book, so yeah. Google.”

“I can help,” Taecyeon offers with a shrug. He leans in and smirks, pouring every bit of conviction into his voice when he reasons, “Why use the internet when you’ve got the valedictorian?”

He reaches across the table and snatches Minjun’s test up. Minjun tries to stop it, but his fingers barely graze the edge of the first page.

“Hey!” Minjun shouts, and Taecyeon just snickers, skimming what answers are filled in so far. It looks like Ancient World History II, which he took back in sophomore year. He has to click his tongue at the first question. “I’m pretty sure the Ainu controlled present-day Hokkaido, _not_ Nagasaki.”

Minjun rises from his chair and plucks his test from Taecyeon’s fingers, and a smug smile curls itself across Taecyeon’s mouth, so wide his cheeks ache. Minjun glares at him and sighs through his nose, dropping back down in his chair and slapping his test atop his folder. 

“I didn’t ask you for help,” he says, voice sour and eyes narrowed. Taecyeon draws the corners of his lips downward, glancing at the test in consideration. 

“Well, you should have. Answer to number one is _C_ , not _A_.”

Minjun rolls his eyes and purses his lips, fiddling with his trackpad and staring very pointedly _not_ in Taecyeon’s direction. Taecyeon waits, tapping his pencil upon the edge of his spiral. 

“...You gonna change it?” He asks, after he can’t wait any longer. Minjun purposely avoids his gaze, typing, until finally— finally— he tips his pencil and erases the incorrect answer. 

“How the hell did you remember that?” He asks after a while, nearly under his breath.

Taecyeon shrugs and throws his hands out to one side, shameless. “It’s a gift.”

Minjun sniffs and drops his chin into his elbow to stare at his screen, and Taecyeon frowns in disappointment. He expected more of a reaction than this. He inches a little to the side in his chair so he can see Minjun’s entire face, the disinterest in his glazed-over eyes at whatever he’s reading.

Suddenly the door leading into the house springs open, and a woman Taecyeon vaguely recognizes as Minjun’s mom steps down into the garage, tray in hand. 

“Oh, Mom— you didn’t have to,” Minjun mumbles as he rises to ease the tray from her hands, earning a loving smile from her. Taecyeon clears his throat and shoves his books aside to clear enough room for Minjun to set down the tray full of snacks. His mouth waters. He didn’t realize how hungry he was.

He stands as well, greeting the woman with a deep bow. “Hi, Mrs. Kim. I’m Taecyeon. From across the street.”

Mrs. Kim simply smiles at him, too, and then reaches forward to pat his shoulder. 

“I know who you are,” she dismisses in a light, friendly voice. But she takes a step back to look him over in surprise. “My, how you’ve grown!”

Taecyeon laughs at that, bashfully scratching at his jaw. 

“Yes,” he doesn’t know what else to say. He glances over at Minjun, who just watches his mother, nervous like everyone is when their mom suddenly drops in. 

Mrs. Kim sighs, eerily perceptive, and begins to turn for the door. “Well, you boys enjoy.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Minjun grins at her and abruptly looks down at the floor, shifting back to his chair before awkwardly sitting at the edge. Taecyeon nods and waves to her, bowing until she turns her back and disappears back inside the house. The garage falls silent but for a steady hum Taecyeon thinks might be the backup generator. He lingers at Minjun’s side, peering down at the food before digging in. 

Minjun angles his gaze up at him and their eyes lock for an instant: Minjun in disbelief, Taecyeon caught off guard. Minjun scoffs and turns away, lips a tight line. Something flips around in Taecyeon’s stomach. _What did I do?_

He blinks quickly, mentally staggering for an instant. _Better yet, why do I care?_ He stuffs an entire cookie into his mouth and digs one hand into the pocket of his jeans. He sits at Minjun’s corner of the table, facing him, and jerks his chin at Minjun’s test.

“You sure you don’t want my help?” He offers again, watching Minjun click through a page about ancient Japanese history. “I got an A in this class.”

“I’m sure you did,” Minjun drawls lazily, brow arched. Taecyeon just continues eating, perched above Minjun and just _looking_. 

Minjun’s dyed hair catches the dim light overhead and shines like pennies, but his roots are dark where his natural color is starting to return. From his vantage point, it’s easy to find Minjun’s shoulders and back within the folds of his huge black hoodie. It’s easy to notice that Minjun’s fingers are long and delicate where they rest upon his keyboard and trackpad.

Minjun abruptly turns and looks back up at him, and Taecyeon almost drops his second cookie.

“Don’t you have some calculus problems to solve, or something?” Minjun furrows his eyebrows, irritation plain on his face. Taecyeon cocks his head, not relinquishing his spot. 

“Physics, actually,” he corrects, grinning with pride. “I finished calculus in study hall.”

“Taecyeon,” Minjun exhales, almost pleading. A ripple of feeling sparks its way through Taecyeon’s chest, the words _say my name_ whisper low in the background of his mind.

“Minjun,” he responds in kind, not even trying to hold back his smile. Minjun’s lips tighten and something switches in his eyes just before he looks away, back to his screen. Taecyeon can only stare, still in his spot as his good mood fizzles out because the moment is lost. He waits, but Minjun carries on like he’s not even there, and his side profile is all Taecyeon gets. 

A minute passes, and he clears his throat and bounces to his feet, turning to see if Minjun saw. Minjun’s face is a blank slate, absorbed in his computer. He scowls, wanders back to his chair and scoots forward to start on his physics homework, confused. He was positive Nichkhun never said Tiffany had done _this_. 

*

A casual flip through the yearbooks one night before bed tells Taecyeon that _Chansungie_ is Hwang Chansung, a sophomore who should be a junior but repeated a year. He isn’t in any clubs, and he doesn’t play any sports. Never on the honor roll. Taecyeon sniffs, unsurprised. 

He wakes up early the next morning and relents when his mom has him sit at the table for some breakfast. 

“I ran into Mrs. Kim yesterday at the gas station,” she mentions, wiping down one of the counters. “She said you’ve been over at their house quite a bit lately.”

Taecyeon shrugs. If _quite a bit_ meant every Tuesday and Thursday since that first invite, or when he happened to be by his window in time to catch the white Jeep dropping Minjun off around 4 when choir practice got out. 

“Mr. Park thinks it would add something to my college application if I submit a poem or something to the literary magazine at school.”

His mom turns at that, and Taecyeon laughs. 

“Try not to be so shocked,” he remarks, finishing up his food and dabbing his mouth with the back of a hand. He scoots away from the table and grabs his bag. 

“I’m just… Good. That’ll be good for you.” She smiles over her shoulder, then, and Taecyeon sighs. He’s starting to agree.

The day of finals is a half-day. All classes after lunch had finals the day before. When Mrs. Lee collects all the papers, she gives them the last ten minutes to socialize. Nichkhun pulls his phone from his pocket. 

“Tiffany wants to hit the mall after fourth. Wanna come with us?”

Taecyeon shrugs. “Sure.”

He watches as Nichkhun types up a message, probably letting Tiffany know. He sighs and turns to look at his desk. They always make him feel like a third wheel, but Nichkhun says that Tiffany says she doesn’t mind. He doubts it. 

“Cool,” Nichkhun says, grinning. He stares at the little screen, and Taecyeon notices a couple of new messages pop up. Nichkhun’s mouth curls up, but he doesn’t read those ones out loud. Taecyeon furrows his brow and turns to peer down his row, all the way to the back. 

Minjun’s head is down on his desk, hood up. Not socializing. Taecyeon taps his foot on the floor a couple of times, and then forces himself to his feet. He pockets his hands in his jeans and stops right in front of Minjun’s desk, then nudges his shoulder with a fingertip. Minjun bolts up, tired wrinkles around his eyes, grimacing.

“What?” He blinks up at Taecyeon, and Taecyeon shrinks a little, guilty. 

“Uh, I…” He takes a deep breath, and then slips his phone from his back pocket. “I was wondering if I could get your number, since… it’s gonna be break and all that.”

The confused creases around Minjun’s eyes and the irritated pinch to his mouth— they start to smooth out to a normal expression, and Taecyeon’s skin feels warm. Minjun reaches up and pushes his hood back a little, coppery fringe appearing. 

“Oh. Ok.”

Taecyeon sits back down, staring at the new contact in his phone: _Minjun_. When he looks to his side and finds Nichkhun staring at him like he’s forgotten to wear pants to school, he realizes he must be smiling like an idiot.  


“What did I just see?”

Taecyeon opens his mouth to respond, but Nichkhun cuts him off with a hand. “Is this why you’ve been blowing me off lately?” He drops his voice and casts a furtive glance to the back of the room. “To hang out with Shakespeare?”

“No,” Taecyeon retorts, like that’s ridiculous. “I’m blowing you off so I can _become_ Shakespeare.”

Nichkhun purses his lips at him and doesn’t say anything else, but the look in his eyes tells Taecyeon that his friend smells bullshit. He sighs and leans over to grab his backpack, stuffing his things inside. He raises a warning finger to Taecyeon.

“Dude, after all this— you better be writing the fucking _Iliad_.”

Taecyeon smirks just as the bell rings. He’s just glad Nichkhun finally knows what the _Iliad_ is.

*

The school mails out mid-year reports once the last teacher in the school records the last test, and they usually arrive by Christmas. Taecyeon scoops his from the pile of mail on the coffee table on Christmas Eve. 

“Still valedictorian?” Taecyeon’s dad quips from the living room floor, grunting as he slides the screen over the crackling fireplace.

Taecyeon smirks, handing the folded letter over so his dad can read. 

“Still valedictorian,” Taecyeon confirms, pocketing his hands, watching his dad place his glasses onto his nose and glance at the first semester grades. His dad nods in approval and peers at him with mischief glinting in his eye. 

“One more semester left. Don’t screw it up.”

In the swirl of presents and family visiting from different corners of the country, Taecyeon easily takes his mind off of anything school-related. For the most part. His birthday gets swallowed up by the tide of food and good cheer, but his parents let him meet up with Nichkhun at the bowling alley to celebrate with his friend.

“There he is!” Nichkhun exclaims as soon as Taecyeon walks through the door. He throws his arms out wide and charges up the short steps from the lanes to the entrance, gripping Taecyeon in a firm bearhug. “Happy birthday, man!”

“Thanks,” Taecyeon chuckles, patting Nichkhun’s back gratefully and peering over his friend’s shoulder at the small gathering of people standing where Nichkhun once stood. He recognizes exactly three people out of the twelve or so looking up at him: Seulong from soccer, tipping his soda to Taecyeon in greeting; Tiffany, perched at the edge of a bench smiling and chatting with Shin Hye. 

Shin Hye.

She turns, expressionless, to look at him. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t do much else with her face either, until she leans in to laugh at something Tiffany has said. 

Nichkhun leans in close to him, eyes wide. “I _know_ ,” he whispers, withdrawing with a huge grin. He drags Taecyeon down the steps to join the others. 

“You’ll have to play in the next round,” Seulong says, and they slap their hands together and hug briefly while Taecyeon takes stock of their corner of the room. Everyone is some degree of hot— dressed in tight t-shirts and tank tops like nobody read the forecast. Taecyeon pulls off his coat, self-conscious in the brown sweater his mom had him put on.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t really want to bowl. He turns back to take the Coke Nichkhun shoves in his hand. 

“We’ve got pizza and nachos coming out,” Nichkhun mentions, sucking on his straw. _Cool,_ Taecyeon thinks. His last birthday party was in, like, third grade. He glances over to Tiffany and Shin Hye, beautiful and ignoring everyone but each other. There were definitely no spaghetti straps in third grade. No push-up bras.

He blinks quickly and nudges his friend in the side, hard. 

“I didn’t know it wasn’t just us,” he mutters to Nichkhun, halfway between fucking excited and upset. Nichkhun rolls his eyes.

“ _Duh_. It’s a _surprise_ party. Are you the smartest asshole in our school, or not?”

Taecyeon purses his lips at that, decides Nichkhun is right, and just drinks his Coke. A waiter comes by and sets down a greasy, cheesy pizza and an overflowing platter of nachos. Nichkhun whoops and plops down on one of the sofa booths with Tiffany. Shin Hye settles down on the seat arm, ooh-ing as Tiffany lifts a pizza slice and stringy cheese dangles from her hand.

Taecyeon takes a seat across from them, between Seulong and some other guy he doesn’t know. The guy just digs in, not even introducing himself. 

The gold sticker on his New Era cap reflects the lights overhead, blinding Taecyeon every time the stranger moves. Taecyeon blinks and peers around over the rims of his glasses before pushing them back up his nose. Blurry faces or not, it makes no difference. He recognizes none of these others.

He suspects none of them have ever been in his honors classes, and that’s why. The only person he’s had a class with in the room is Nichkhun. And that’s just this year on a whim.

“Is the band coming on the trip with us this spring?” Seulong speaks up, turning to meet Taecyeon’s eye. The stranger suddenly lifts his head and sends them a funny look that says just what he’s probably thinking. _Band?_

The band and chorus took a bus almost every spring to go perform at a nearby university along with twenty other high schools. Taecyeon had only gone once, during his sophomore year. He vaguely remembers an announcement about it sometime before winter break. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. He nearly forgot Seulong was also in the choir. “Can’t remember which school we’re going to, though.”

“You heard back from any colleges yet? Bet you got into each one, huh,” Seulong snickers, slapping Taecyeon’s shoulder. 

Taecyeon shrugs, sucking in cool air around the jalepeno he accidentally ate. It burns on his tongue, and the Coke he slurps just makes it worse. “I got an early admit to one. But the place I want to go…” he shakes his head. He put in his general application, but thanks to this whole poetry thing, the most critical portion would have to wait until just before the deadline.

The waiter brings another tray of sodas. Taecyeon waits for him to leave before continuing.

“You know Mr. Park? Guidance counselor?”

Seulong nods, and Nichkhun snorts next to him.

“Total bullshit,” Nichkhun remarks in advance, already aware of the story.

“Yeah,” Taecyeon agrees. He carries on. “Anyway, he’s making me submit some stuff to the literary magazine to spice up my application. It’s total bullshit,” he repeats, shaking his head. 

Seulong gawks, scooping cheese onto a chip and stuffing it in his mouth. “No fucking way, bro.”

“I didn’t even know we had a— what is it?” The stranger cuts in. 

Taecyeon furrows his eyebrows, slightly wary. “Literary magazine. It’s like a— a book full of student poems and stuff.”

The stranger screws up his face and peers around in confusion, and chips blow from his mouth as he exclaims, “I had no fucking clue we had that!”

Seulong ignores him and leans in to look at Taecyeon. “So what did you write?”

Taecyeon shakes his head, swiping up a slice of pizza onto a paper plate. “Nothing yet.”

Nichkhun inhales suddenly, bouncing forward to the edge of his seat. “Get this—” he peers around until most of the attention is on him. “Mr. Park is making him meet up with Kim Minjun to work on _poetry_.”

He chuckles madly after that, and Seulong’s mouth drops open again. The stranger rears his head up in surprise.

“Kim Minjun? He’s such a fucking homo,” he shudders, laughing and grabbing his second slice of pizza.

The bottom of Taecyeon’s stomach seems to fall out. He stares hard at the top of the guy’s head, at that damn gold sticker, and Nichkhun’s laughter rattles at his side like maracas. 

“Grow up, Ji-Hyun,” Tiffany jeers, suddenly swooping down across Nichkhun’s lap to grab more pizza for herself and Shin Hye. The stranger— Ji-Hyun— just grins her way and continues eating. 

“Seriously,” Shin Hye’s voice. None of the guys comment. Taecyeon’s face is burning hot, his neck and chest feel damp beneath his thick sweater. 

“So does he give you assignments or what?” Seulong’s voice floats to him through the whooshing in his ears, and he snaps his attention to him. 

“No,” he answers, and his arm feels like a part of an old, rusty machine when he grabs another slice of pizza. “I write. He reads it, tells me what to fix.” He turns to Nichkhun, rubbing his greasy fingertips together. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Back that way,” Nichkhun jerks his thumb to the far right, behind the shoe counter. Taecyeon pulls himself up, finishing up his pizza as he goes. He’s just past the pizza counter when a hand curls around his elbow and stops him in his tracks. He turns, cheek full of crust, to find Shin Hye standing in front of him. 

Her eyes are big and bright in her face as she peers up at him, her grip insistent. 

“Ji-Hyun just wants attention. Ignore him,” she says in a low voice. Taecyeon stares down at her in something of a stupor. “Happy birthday.” 

Her hand lingers, and then with a cock of her head, she drops it. She watches him over her shoulder as she walks away, and Tiffany loops an arm around hers before both girls turn to one another, sharing secret smiles.

*

His birthday party, awful as it was, gives him an idea. _The Final Winter_ was still a go, but another poem wouldn’t hurt. Summer after graduation might be the last time he ever saw his friends before college. _Summer Together_. 

He sends Minjun a text, sitting on the edge of his bed. _You home?_

The minutes that tick by feel like hours, and Taecyeon bites most of the skin from his bottom lip, but Minjun responds. _Come to my garage._

Taecyeon throws on a jacket, grabs his bag, and slips on ice in his haste to get across the street.

“Your parents let you drink coffee?” Taecyeon asks, intrigued and just a bit jealous when Minjun emerges from his house and into the garage with a steaming mug of something that smells like— well, coffee. 

Minjun smiles sneakily and tugs his sleeves over his hands before he adjusts his two-handed grip on his cup. His coppery hair ruffles over his ears and eyebrows when he shakes his head, and Taecyeon drops his gaze when the moment feels too long. 

“No,” Minjun responds simply, shifting in the corner of Taecyeon’s eye. “I bought my own bag so they don’t know.”

“You have a job?” Taecyeon flicks his gaze back to Minjun briefly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. 

“Yeah. _Sprinkles_ , by the movies.” Minjun smiles and his shoulder moves in a barely-there shrug. 

“Ah, the ice cream shop,” Taecyeon nods, propping his backpack against Minjun’s desk. It slumps down onto the floor, empty as it is. Taecyeon peers down at it. He hasn’t actually written anything, but he has the _idea_. School starts back up in three days. What the hell is he doing here over the holiday?

He grips the back of the rolly chair Minjun dragged down last time he was over and takes a seat. He wheels forward as Minjun remains standing near the desk, sniffing at his coffee with a satisfied smile. It is quiet.

 _Less staring, more talking_ , Taecyeon tells himself, hoping ‘himself’ actually listens. He folds his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair. If he was thinking of the right place, Sprinkles was built last year, after they tore down the old video store where he and Nichkhun would rent video games. Minjun inhales audibly, their eyes meeting briefly before he lifts his cup again to sip, and it hides the lower half of his face. 

“I haven’t been there yet,” Taecyeon mentions, clicking his tongue. Shadows fall on Minjun’s bared throat, muscles shift beneath skin. Taecyeon’s fingertips tighten a fraction in his own hair.

“I know,” Minjun says, and then his eyes widen, and he furrows his brows, lids blinking quickly as he continues, “I mean— I’ve worked there since it opened. I’ve never seen you come in…” he trails off, staring down into his cup. He sniffs, before his eyes flick up to Taecyeon’s face. 

“What?” Taecyeon prompts him almost at a whisper, curious to hear what else Minjun has to say about him. Minjun lifts an eyebrow and does that shrug again, turning his face as he lowers his coffee next to his computer on the desk. A corner of his mouth rises just so in a teasing, enticing smirk—

“I was just gonna say, you probably never leave your bedroom so…”

Taecyeon snorts and shakes his head self-deprecatingly. 

“I live to study,” he concedes, dropping his arms back to his sides. He relaxes and leans forward a bit. He glances down at Minjun’s mug. His parents don’t allow him to drink coffee, even though he officially became an adult last week. “You have anymore?” he jerks his chin in the direction of Minjun’s mug, hopeful. 

Minjun smiles indulgently and glances his way. “Yeah, come on.”

Taecyeon follows him through the inside door leading into the house. The temperature instantly rises once the door swings shut behind him. He sees easily over Minjun’s shoulder down the hallway leading into the kitchen. There are photos on the walls, and he recognizes Minjun’s face in smaller versions of him, and his mom, but he guesses at the boy and man who must be the rest of his family. 

The smell of coffee is even stronger inside the kitchen. Minjun slings a chair from under the dining table and props it against the stove. Taecyeon smirks and leans his shoulder against the door frame, amused, as Minjun climbs onto the chair to open the two small cabinets high above the microwave. His whole arm disappears deep inside before it withdraws, producing a red bag of ground coffee. 

Minjun drops down with a sigh and moves over to the black and silver coffee machine. It’s elaborate— Taecyeon watches him, intrigued as he measures the coffee in a tiny little cup, finds a mug, and measures water, all in complete silence. He wonders if his mom does it the same way. Her coffee is already made when he wakes up. 

The machine rumbles, and steam shoots up from the top. Taecyeon moves away from the doorway and towards the counter where Minjun is, peering around the cozy brown and beige furnishings. He sees Minjun turn to him in his periphery. 

“You know, you could write a short story instead of a poem,” Minjun suggests, as the smell of fresh coffee flows, more potent, into the room. Taecyeon tips his head to glance at Minjun. His eyes drop down the hints of Minjun’s body under his sweatshirt, a progression he just can’t stop from happening: the slope of his shoulders, his back, and the curve of his ass right where his jeans begin.

Taecyeon swallows and blinks hard, hoping Minjun doesn’t notice. He averts his gaze to Minjun’s hand, the fidgeting fingers on the knob of the drawer near Taecyeon’s hip. Taecyeon wonders if he should move away, but in the end he doesn’t. He only turns his head to watch as dark liquid fills his mug.

“Nah.” He shrugs, finally. “Poems are shorter.”

Minjun lets out a dry cackle, and his voice is skeptical, “Shorter doesn’t mean easier.”

Taecyeon lifts his gaze to meet Minjun’s again, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as Minjun’s eyes narrow. “No. Shorter means using a chair to reach the cabinets.”

Minjun gawks at him, “Fuck you,” but he turns away to laugh, watching the coffee brew. Taecyeon chuckles, warily eying Minjun’s profile just to be sure.

It _was_ a joke, sort of. He sighs and steps closer so they are side-by-side, inhaling the almost chocolatey scent, faintly aware of Minjun’s hand dropping from the drawer and crawling to hold the counter. Taecyeon nudges the coffee bag so he can read the label. 

“Is there sugar?” He asks, mostly to change the subject.

“Yeah, and cream if you want,” Minjun responds too eagerly, and produces a big bag of sugar with a spoon stuck inside before he moves away to the fridge and returns with a carton of half-and-half. He sets it on the counter, watching the last stream of brown foam fall into the mug. The light on the machine turns green, and he lifts the mug and slides it close to Taecyeon.

“Thanks,” Taecyeon says, excited. He’s tasted coffee, but he’s never had his own cup. He lifts the mug to his lips. It burns and his face twists at the bitter taste. Minjun snorts next to him. Taecyeon shoots him a glare, and adds sugar and cream. 

He follows Minjun back out to the garage, gingerly balancing his coffee— he overfilled it with cream. It sloshes over the back of his hand, not scalding, but still hot. He sits in his chair with a relieved sigh, and licks the sweet coffee off his knuckle. Minjun clears his throat and hits a key on his laptop. A tiny smile on appears on his face. Taecyeon drinks his coffee, dying to know what that means.

*

Taecyeon stops at his locker first thing in the morning on the first day back in school. He peers over his shoulder to the lockers across the hall, and his eyes fall on Minjun’s. No one is there. He turns with a start when someone thumps his shoulder from behind. 

Light bounds off a gold sticker, nearly blinding him. The guy from Taecyeon’s birthday party smirks back at him from under his New Era cap. 

“What’s up, Taeyang?” He gives Taecyeon’s shoulder a chummy squeeze, and Taecyeon just squints at him. 

“Yeah…” he mumbles, not even bothering to correct the guy on his name. Taecyeon can’t even begin to guess at his. 

“Catch you later.”

Taecyeon shakes his head, unsettled that the guy even touched him. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches as the guy disappears into the throng of pre-first period drag before pulling out the books he needs. He pauses though, when he suddenly remembers Shin Hye at the bowling alley. 

_Ignore him,_ she had said. 

Nichkhun is already sitting in his usual seat when Taecyeon walks into Advanced Lit. 

“Top o’ the morning,” Nichkhun chirps, way too perky for Taecyeon’s liking. Taecyeon grimaces and settles next to him with a tired sigh. 

“Is this gonna be a thing?” Taecyeon asks, less than excited.

“Already a thing,” Nichkhun grins, drumming his hands atop his desk. Taecyeon snorts. He can expect Nichkhun to say it every day for the next month and then adopt another phrase to get sick of, and then start the cycle again. He smiles and averts his gaze just as Mrs. Lee walks in with Minjun behind her, turned and talking to him. 

Taecyeon allows himself a wry smirk. And people called _him_ a teacher’s pet?

“I’m just honored you thought to ask,” Mrs. Lee is saying, a smile on her face and— Taecyeon has to do a double-take— is that a blush?

Minjun pauses near her desk as she deposits her things on top of it. He shrugs, and Taecyeon tunes in to eavesdrop. 

“Just thought it’d be nice to have something from faculty, too.”

She tilts her head and regards him with an appreciative grin. Taecyeon furrows his brows, and Minjun begins to shuffle away from her and towards him. His eyes lift to Taecyeon’s just as he’s passing Taecyeon’s desk, and the corner of his mouth tightens with a little smile. 

“Hi,” Taecyeon mutters, unable to stop himself. The air shifts against his face as Minjun moves to the back of the room. Taecyeon stares at his desk in mild horror, contemplating those two or three seconds. Should he have smiled? Said it louder? Not said it at all?

“Welcome back, everyone.”

He focuses on the sound of Mrs. Lee’s voice for the distraction that it is. Nichkhun sinks down into his seat, mood visibly souring. She turns to write the new literature unit on the board: Shakespeare.

Nichkhun snorts and turns to jab Taecyeon, hard, in the arm. Mrs. Lee stops. She peers over her shoulder, laser-eyes on Nichkhun. Nichkhun freezes, because so does everyone else. He clears his throat, and Taecyeon bites his lip to hold back a laugh. 

“At least Nichkhun is excited about the new topic,” Mrs. Lee instigates, blinking at him patiently. “Care to tell the class why?”

“Taec and I are really into it,” he says, in his most serious voice. 

Mrs. Lee smiles, and Taecyeon winces when she glances at him, too. Lasers. “Of course. Then I’m sure you _both_ can lead our pre-unit discussion today.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they mutter in unison, and when she turns her back to write the other sub-topics, Nichkhun peers at Taecyeon with a slick grin. Taecyeon just sighs, wondering why he ever thought taking a class with Nichkhun would be a good idea.

Jazz band rehearsals are held after school every spring because it’s not in the budget to be an actual class. Park Jin Young, Ph.D., teaches all of the music classes at Suncrest High and runs all the after school programs. He has for the last twenty years, people say, because he’s just that good. Taecyeon suspects it’s because they can’t find anyone else. 

“...Get this consent form signed by next Friday,” Dr. Park is saying, as he moves through the rows to distribute papers. “Seniors who are of age, you can officially sign it yourselves,” Dr. Park flashes them all an indulgent smile at that. Taecyeon’s mouth dips down at the corners as he considers this new option. He shrugs and inks his signature on the dotted line. 

The joint band/choir festival was coming up, and everyone had to get permission to load up on a bus and travel miles and miles to a university hours away. For most of the other band kids it was an opportunity to ogle at and be ogled at by college students. For Taecyeon it was different. Sophomore year, he got to see what college was like, and since then he’d wanted _out_ of high school.

He hands his form in to Dr. Park along with the other legal adults, and the first rehearsal goes underway. 

By February, Taecyeon settles into a routine. Indoor soccer practice is four days a week, and after he’s showered he rides his bike to Minjun’s and parks it against the garage wall so his gears don’t freeze.

“You like your seasons,” Minjun comments, when Taecyeon works up the courage to show him _Summer Together_. He shrugs. 

“Maybe.”

*

With only a month left to submit his college application, Taecyeon sets up an appointment to see Mr. Park Namyong in the guidance office. 

“Hey there,” Mr. Park greets him, patting him on the back. Taecyeon smiles and sits down. “How’s the writing coming along?”

“It’s fine,” Taecyeon resists the urge to shrug. He doesn’t want to look like he doesn’t care. He does, it’s just… “It’s just— my application is due before this year’s issue of _The Horizon_ comes out. I’m not really sure how that’s supposed to help me.” He smiles to soften the condescending edge he hears in his own voice.

Mr. Park nods in understanding. “All these schools need to know is that you’ve submitted work, and that the work was accepted to be published.”

Taecyeon sighs through his nose, and then his mind does a little bit of a rewind.

“ _Accepted?_ ”

Mr. Park just stares at him for a moment, seemingly unsure before continuing, “Minjun told me you were working really hard, despite knowing your work will be included regardless of… _quality_.”

Taecyeon’s stomach twists, and he swallows. “Right.” He blinks, checks his watch, and reaches down to get his bag from the floor. “I’ve got to get back to class. Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Park.”

Mr. Park watches him go, brows lifted in mild confusion. “Of course. Anytime.”

He’s just rounded the corner when he runs into someone, and he reaches out too late to break their fall. “Sorry—”

He stops short. 

Shin-Hye sits on the floor, two novels strewn far apart on white tile. She scoffs and flicks her eyes up at him. _Fuck_. He sticks his hand out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

She clears her throat and stares at his hand for a moment before taking it. She smooths out her clothes and brushes her hair from her face once she’s on her feet. And Taecyeon sputters for a moment, staring before he remembers the books. He grabs them both from the floor and glances at the covers, not recognizing the titles. He hands them over with an embarrassed smile.

“Thanks,” she says, heaving a deep breath. “How have you been?”

“Alright,” he blinks, confused. Overwhelmed. “You?”

She peers up at him, and then she chuckles. “You can relax, you know.”

The words have the opposite effect. Taecyeon stiffens, and his face starts to burn hot. She stares at him, right in his eyes, with that knowing glint just like she had at his birthday party, and his heart— _ba-dump, ba-dump, badump, badumpbadumpbadump_. It races, but not for the reason it used to. She clutches her books against her stomach and steps close, close enough he could see right down her shirt if he looked. 

If he looked.

She smiles then, and lowers her voice. “I won’t tell anybody your secret.” The words sit on the air, and then she steps around him. Taecyeon can’t turn to watch her leave this time.

*

“So, you going to the dance?”

Taecyeon scowls just at the word. The Spring Formal Dance. It all makes him want to shudder.

“I guess. It’s fucking stupid. Nichkhun’s dad got a limo and he keeps going on about how it’s our _senior year_ so I have to go. It’s such a waste of time,” he rolls his eyes, erasing a number he wrote incorrectly on his graph. 

He glances up from his calculus to look at Minjun, who just bites his lip and drops his gaze back to his history essay. “Yeah,” he mutters, flipping a few pages in his textbook. 

Taecyeon sighs and returns to his equations. They go on in silence, stopping only when the door creaks open and Minjun’s mom’s voice sails over the quiet. “You boys want some snacks?”

“Snacks? Of course,” Taecyeon grins at her as she sets down a plate of cookies. They are warm. Taecyeon stuffs one into his mouth. “Thanks, these are delicious.”

Minjun’s mom smiles and presses a hand to his shoulder. “Enjoy,” she says, and Minjun grins up at her before she leaves. 

Taecyeon finishes his calculus and switches to history. He finished his essay during study hall, and now just needs to type it up and print it. He glances at Minjun. Minjun is winding his fingers through his hair, his brow pinched in confusion as he stares at his book. Taecyeon opens his mouth to offer help, but stops short. Last time he did that, Minjun snapped at him. He sighs instead.

“Hey, can I type my paper on your computer?” 

Minjun glances up at him, wide-eyed. He blinks a few times, as if the words are slow to make sense. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, distracted, lifting his laptop from his bag and typing something, probably the password. 

“Thanks,” Taecyeon says when he hands it over. He sets the computer next to his notebook and opens up the word processor. Two windows pop open, one blank. The other isn’t. 

_Tell me— Where are you?_

_I’m dreaming in the morning  
Always searching for that one and only_

_And then one day, you_  
Out of the blue  
Suddenly appeared out of my dreams 

_After I had given up, you found me_  
Crossing over the night sky,  
You found me 

“Is—” Taecyeon’s voice freezes in his throat. Minjun might not want him to see this. He swallows and Minjun lifts his head. 

“Huh?”

Taecyeon peers at him, and he doesn’t know the name of the emotion that shoots through him when their eyes meet. He knows he doesn’t like it. And he knows that it hurts. He clears his throat, and seconds pass where he just stares at Minjun and Minjun stares at him, until he hears his own voice—

“Nothing. I found it.”

Minjun drops his head again, and continues scribbling. Taecyeon stares blindly down at his hand-written essay. He remembers the first thing Minjun said to him the day he handed him that poem. _Write about something you like. Or someone._ And it makes sense, because that’s what Minjun is doing. Writing about someone he likes. And the poem— it’s good.

 _So Minjun likes someone_. Taecyeon sits, squeezing the pencil in his hand, staring at the margins of his notebook paper as tension burns in his chest. Is it someone he knows? He hasn’t noticed Minjun talking to anyone, liking someone. 

His mind drifts to Hwang Chansung, then Nichkhun and Tiffany— holding onto each other, staring into each other’s eyes like the world could end, but they never could. He hasn’t seen Minjun act like that to Chansung. He chances a look at the poem again, eyes skimming frantically over the lines, wondering. 

“I’m gonna need to charge it soon...”

Taecyeon jerks his head up and nods at Minjun. “Right. I’ll be quick.” Minjun’s mouth folds into a tiny half-smile, and he drops his chin to rest on the back of his palm, staring at his history book.

Taecyeon sighs through his nose and straightens up in his chair to start his paper. But now— the words he’s written blur together into the black, inky haphazard streaks of his own script, and his eyes absently flit up to Minjun once again. 

He can’t bring himself to hit a single key. 

*

“These aren’t girls,” Siwon says, sweeping his eyes around the university cafeteria with a wide-eyed leer. “These are women.”

Taecyeon snorts, lifting a handful of thick greasy fries to his mouth. “And these are real potatoes,” he adds, washing it down with soda. “Real women and real food. I can’t wait for college.”

They burst into laughter at that. 

They wait around with the rest of the jazz band until Dr. Park pulls them all aside to one of the rehearsal rooms. They play through the start of each song on the repertoire, and the rhythm section— Yubin, Hye-Lim, and Sunmi— all have to go through their parts alone to make sure they don’t drop tempo during the melody.

Thirty minutes before they go on, Dr. Park steps out to pull in the vocalists. There’s no sax on the choral pieces, so Taecyeon, Siwon, and the three others linger against the wall. Taecyeon’s mouth goes dry when Dr. Park returns. Minjun comes in behind him— like Taecyeon knew he would, but _still_.

Taecyeon’s brain does something crazy, and his eyes are even crazier at the sight of Minjun in clothes that fit. His eyes follow the ass in tight black slacks, and his saxophone slips a little from his grip before he catches it, nearly breathless. Minjun turns and peers over his shoulder, and Taecyeon swallows, nodding. 

The corner of Minjun’s mouth rises, and then he turns back around. He’s singing with another guy Taecyeon doesn’t know, but when they harmonize Minjun’s voice soars on the higher notes, and Taecyeon’s skin roughens with goosebumps beneath his shirt. He clears his throat.

“Gotta pee,” he mutters to Siwon, and he doesn’t wait for a response before he takes off.

Jazz band and jazz choir both take home trophies, and Taecyeon relishes the opportunity to see Dr. Park cry one last time before he graduates. Minjun and the other vocalist, a guy around Minjun’s height with small eyes and a poker-face, are the only singers from their school to get top honors.

“Not bad,” Taecyeon says, cruising up behind Minjun as they line up to get on the bus. Minjun glances at him, then peers down at his trophy with a proud little smile. 

“One for the road,” he shrugs. Taecyeon nods with a smile, and his eyes track down to notice Minjun’s ditched the white button-down he wore for the performance. He’s in a simple black t-shirt, and Taecyeon peers up to squint at the sun, grateful. He does like his seasons.  


He watches Minjun settle in a window seat near the back, and he summons every ounce of courage he can before he drops down in the one right next to him. The other singer pauses in the aisle above him, and Taecyeon glances up sheepishly, only to be stared down. 

The guy rolls his eyes, and makes his way to the seat behind them.

Taecyeon turns to glance at Minjun, who is already watching him with a funny look on his face. “I’m exhausted,” he says, and he stretches just for good measure. Minjun purses his lips and glances out of the window. 

The bus rumbles and shakes as it pulls out of the lot, and Taecyeon leans forward to watch the university campus grow smaller and smaller. It takes only a few seconds for his eyes to land on Minjun again.

“So… do you know where you’re going yet?” Minjun turns to him, and he clarifies, “For school?”

“Oh. No.”

Taecyeon furrows his brows. “Why not?”

Minjun shrugs, and gives Taecyeon all side profile again. 

“You _applied_ , right?”

Minjun inhales, and then turns to look at him. His nod is slow, and Taecyeon sighs in relief. “Where?”

“It’s an art school,” he mutters, fidgeting with loose strings on his pants. Taecyeon opens his mouth to ask more, but Minjun suddenly meets his gaze, sharp. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Taecyeon lifts his hands in surrender. The lights overhead dim, and the TVs all flick on. An old black and white film starts to roll, and Minjun smiles. Taecyeon smiles, too.

They sit in perfect silence, watching the characters move on mute, until Minjun leans forward and pulls his headphones from his bag.

A flash of black across Minjun’s skin gives him a start. He reaches out on impulse, and his hand closes around Minjun’s wrist. Minjun stares at him in surprise, then down at his own arm. “It’s not real.”

Deep black ink flows across the inside of Minjun’s forearm, jaggedly-drawn lines running from the bend of his elbow to the base of his palm like veins. Or cracks.

“It looks real,” Taecyeon observes. He slides his hand down Minjun’s wrist and rubs the pad of his thumb lightly over the tattoo. It doesn’t fade. He tugs Minjun’s hand gently. There is no resistance. Minjun's arm drapes across one of Taecyeon’s thighs, and he feels the muscles in his hand stretch on their own accord. Encouraged, he traces the ink with his fingertips, and Minjun inhales with a sharp little hiss. Taecyeon looks at him, and their eyes lock. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Something thumps the back of their seat, and Minjun recoils, turning to look behind them.  


Taecyeon vaguely hears him say what’s probably someone’s name, but all he can think about is how soft Minjun’s skin felt beneath his fingers, the warm pressure it in Taecyeon’s lap. A familiar burn starts behind his navel, and he shifts his hips to lessen the tension he feels growing. 

Minjun’s t-shirt rides up when he lifts a little in his seat to talk to the other singer, and Taecyeon lets out a harsh sigh, shutting his eyes.

“...And can I borrow your phone charger?” 

“Yeah,” Minjun mumbles, and Taecyeon drops his head back against the seat, still breathing hard. He sees the cord dangling from his periphery, and he curses _needy fucking jerk_ behind them.

“Thanks,” the kid says, and Taecyeon snorts.

_Thanks for nothing._

*

The day after Taecyeon submits his college application, he nearly chokes on his lunch and dies when Nichkhun’s sharp elbow nails him in the gut. 

“What the f—”

“—Shin-Hye,” Nichkhun mumbles dumbly, staring straight ahead so Taecyeon has to glare at the side of his face. 

“What about her?” Taecyeon sputters, confused. 

Nichkhun’s mouth remains agape, eyes forward so all Taecyeon sees is the side of his face. “She’s coming this way.”

Taecyeon whips his head around. Sure enough, Shin-Hye is walking towards their lunch table and— Taecyeon glances around him, behind him, but he’s sure of it. Her eyes are pinned right on him. He watches her until she stops right in front of them.

Nichkhun clears his throat. “Hey, Shin-Hye.”

“Hi, Khun.” She smiles at him, and then turns her gaze onto Taecyeon. Taecyeon feels his face heat up, and just at the sight of her his brain surges with images he and Nichkhun stole glimpses of on the internet: women lying on beds in lacy thongs and bras that barely contained firm tits, red lips and messy, wavy hair, feline fuck-me eyes that stared right through him from the page.

Minjun’s skin, warm, just at his fingertips. 

Perspiration prickles in his armpits and pleasure simmers, hot and low behind his navel as he starts to harden at the lunch table. A few whispers shoot between the people at the nearest table, and a number of heads swivel in their direction. A hush almost falls over the cafeteria, and when her lips move again, he wills himself not to panic. 

“Hi, Taecyeon.”

“H-hi. Shin-Hye,” He mumbles, reaching up to adjust his glasses on his nose. He takes a deep breath. She places a hand on her hip and stares down at him. The long, thick sweep of her hair shifts over her shoulder with the movement, baring her long neck. Taecyeon’s eyes drop. He can see the outline of her bra through her pale blue shirt.

“I heard you don’t have a date for the dance,” he doesn’t confirm it, and she doesn’t leave room for him to. “It’s funny, because neither do I.”

“Funny,” Nichkhun chimes in, and Taecyeon suppresses the urge to punch him in the balls. He nods and forces a polite smile onto his mouth. Shin-Hye glances at Nichkhun briefly, mildly irritated. Her expression sweetens when she looks back Taecyeon’s way. 

“So let’s go together,” she says, and Taecyeon opens his mouth but she’s already continuing. She turns to Nichkhun. “Have the limo come to my house to pick up me, Tiffany, Hyoyeon, and Krystal.”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Nichkhun agrees. Shin-Hye nods, satisfied, and only when Taecyeon watches her ass swish and sway beneath her skirt does he realize she’s walking away. 

A few wolf whistles sound in the huge room, and when she’s out of sight, Nichkhun leans forward to grasp Taecyeon’s shoulder. 

“Hell yeah, man! The dance is gonna fucking rock! We gotta get you a tux! You need to ask her what color her dress is so you can match your tie! And find out what kind of flowers she likes! And you need contacts ‘cause you can’t wear those glasses to the damn dance—”

“Khun,” Taecyeon cuts in, staring at the table because _what just happened?_

“What, man?” he slaps Taecyeon hard on the shoulder. “Are you pumped or what?”

Taecyeon snaps out of his shock and focuses on Nichkhun’s face. Pumped. Is that the sinking feeling in his stomach? The thudding in the middle of his chest? He pushes a smile onto his face and nods. Nichkhun’s grin widens, face open and oblivious.

“Yeah.” Taecyeon agrees easily. Her eyes flash through his mind, and he hears her soft voice once again: _I won’t tell anybody your secret._ He stares down at the table, filled with dread. “This is gonna be awesome.”

*

It doesn’t really hit him until third period, the next day, as he’s helping Mrs. Lee rearrange the desks in the shape of a circle for literature discussion. The legs skid across the tile floor like nails on a chalkboard and he stares at the wall with the sudden thought: _I’m going to the dance with Shin Hye. Why? Why is she doing this?_

He doesn’t think she likes him. Not like that, anyway. And he doesn’t know whether he really likes her.  


He shakes his head as the rest of his class trickles in, and when Minjun’s shape fills the doorway and they meet eyes across the room, Taecyeon’s bottom lip trembles into a smile. He calms down by the time Minjun is next to him, dropping his bag in the space between their desks with a heavy sigh. 

“What’s up,” Taecyeon starts, finding his lit binder and their short story this week.

“Oh, you know.” Minjun sighs dramatically, opening his notebook to a clean page. He bites his lip, and Taecyeon sets his hands on his own desk, bracing his weight on them. The words tickle at the tip of his tongue— he knows there is more than enough space in Nichkhun’s limo to fit more people. Maybe Minjun could come with them? 

Nichkhun jogs through the door just as the bell rings, and Taecyeon turns in time to catch his low-five at his back. 

“Shin-Hye pick a dress yet?”

A bitter taste fills Taecyeon’s mouth, and he notices Minjun’s movements pause in his periphery, just a stutter, before carrying on with whatever he’s doing. He grits his teeth, and for the first time in his life— he wishes Nichkhun would shut the hell up.

“Not yet,” he mutters.

“Bro, you have like, two weeks till the dance. You need to get a tux that matches. I’m sure she picked her dress ages ago because that’s what girls do. You just need to nut up and ask.”

Taecyeon rolls his eyes and roughly flicks his notebook open. “Class is starting.”

Nichkhun stares at him, and then turns around to open his books, shaking his head. Taecyeon clenches and then unclenches his fist. He turns to look at his other side. Minjun is running his fingers through his hair, eyes on his desk. 

*

The deadline for _The Horizon_ is a week before the dance. Taecyeon thinks the world has a fucked up way of working out. 

Every time he glances across the street, Minjun’s garage door is shut. He thinks about just hitting the porch and knocking, but he can’t work himself up to it. The only time he _sees_ Minjun is first period, and Minjun doesn’t see him. He doesn’t meet his eyes, and he sits at the back row, dead silent. 

“Blue.” 

Taecyeon turns at the sound of Shin-Hye’s voice just after lunch. She’s leaned on her side against the lockers, and Taecyeon lowers his gaze to the bag dangling on one of her fingers. 

“I got your tie,” she sighs, as if it took a great effort. “Can’t have you grabbing something that doesn’t match my dress.” 

Taecyeon eyes the bag suspiciously, but takes it regardless. He pulls his backpack on and looks her in the eye. 

“I’m not an idiot,” he whispers, and she smirks. 

“Good.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Why do you want to go to the dance with me? We barely know each other.” 

She crosses her arms, and delivers a long, thoughtful stare before the dry smirk drops, and something else flickers across her eyes. Something sad. 

“I have my secrets, too.” 

Taecyeon frowns, understanding dawning on him like a breeze. Neither of them says anything else. 

Asking around leads him to one of the project rooms used to make the yearbook. A smattering of students are in there after school, and they all peer up at him when he arrives. One of them stands up— Taecyeon recognizes Chansung, the guy from Minjun’s garage. 

“Is Minjun here?” Taecyeon asks, glancing at the rest of them, but they all just stare silently like zombies. Chansung pauses right in front of him, and cocks his head to one side. The light glints off the ring embedded in his eyebrow, and with the ring in his nose and the hostile set of his shoulders, he looks like a bull. 

Taecyeon blinks. _What the hell did he walk into?_

“He’s not,” Chansung says simply. 

“O-kay,” Taecyeon hedges, because he suddenly feels like he’s part of a mob movie, and this is the scene where he gets his ass kicked. “I just wanted to submit my poems to the book.” 

He hands Chansung the pages he printed, and is surprised when they aren’t snatched. But Chansung glances down at them with a tiny laugh. 

“Great,” he says, and he sets them down at the edge of a desk. Any shift in the air could send them to the floor. Taecyeon glares at him, and shakes his head. _Not worth it._

He turns around without a word, and leaves. 

* 

Taecyeon is standing on his porch in something of a daze when the white limousine pulls up. He tightens the knot in his tie, watching as the doors open and his friends all file out: Nichkhun, then Tiffany. Hyoyeon and Krystal with their dates, and Shin-Hye last. Taecyeon smiles, and steps down to meet them on the lawn. 

“You look great,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound rehearsed as it is. She smirks up at him, and she really does look beautiful, in her navy blue dress and the swirl of soft hair atop her head. 

“You, too.” 

He sighs and puts the corsage on her wrist just like his mom showed him, and they all line up for a photo. When the camera bulb flashes Taecyeon winces, and he thinks he understands— why some cultures believed a picture captured part of someone’s soul. 

The school gym is transformed. Taecyeon stares up in awe at the ceiling, the tiny golden flecks in the dark that dance, surely some kind of light. 

“What’s the theme, again?” He dips down to Shin-Hye’s ear to ask. 

“Lost In Space,” she tells him, and then turns with a wry smile. Taecyeon shakes his head. It _is_ a bit better than _Farewell_. 

Nichkhun and Tiffany make for the dance floor, and Taecyeon colors himself impressed when Shin-Hye drags his hand to the snack table and fills up her plate. He can always eat. A few people glance their way, and he notices them, whispering behind their hands, envious. He knows what they’re all thinking. 

_What is she doing with him?_

Someone spikes the punch. Taecyeon catches a glimpse of a New Era cap and thinks he might know the culprit. But he feels the thrum of alcohol in his veins for the first time, and he laughs, thick and mindless for once in his life. 

He and Shin-Hye head bang to a couple of songs, and no amount of hairspray could keep her style intact, but she doesn’t seem to care. They’re both drunk by the time the live music starts, and the frequency of slow songs kicks up. Shin-Hye slants a disinterested look at him, and he clutches her hand in his. They walk together to find a table. 

“What’s next for you?” He asks her, once they’re seated. 

“I got into the school I wanted,” she says chewing on a mozzarella stick. “I think I’ll study… politics.” She announces with a proud grin. Taecyeon returns it. 

"You have my vote.” 

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, shaking him erratically. 

“Look at you two lovebirds,” Nichkhun growls over his head, and Taecyeon lets his friend sway him right to left in his chair. “Mind if we join?” 

He claps Taecyeon’s shoulder, and Taecyeon looks up. _We_ is about ten other people. He grunts under his breath when he sees New-Era-Cap-Guy. It must be glued to his head. 

“This punch is fire,” Tiffany drawls, leaning against Nichkhun’s shoulder with a lazy smile. She tips her cup back up to her lips, and Nichkhun chugs some of his own. 

“My pleasure, my pleasure,” New-Era says, arm slung around some girl Taecyeon has never seen. She looks too old to be in high school. He glances at Shin-Hye to see if she’s thinking what he’s thinking, but she’s not looking at him. She’s staring at something right over Taecyeon’s shoulder. 

He turns to see what it is, and his breath catches in his throat. 

Minjun stands in front of him. It feels like ages since Taecyeon has seen him, and his eyes, hungry, try to consume everything they see. 

He looks completely different, all dressed up in his slim-fitting black and white penguin jacket— but the jeans and the sneakers and the gel in his hair, what looks like makeup on his face— that’s not so different. Taecyeon’s skin grows feverish beneath his collar. His legs are weak even sitting at the table. 

His friends have gone stone silent with Minjun’s presence. Blood rushes in Taecyeon’s ears, but overhead, he hears the eerie, repetitive chorus of the slow song playing right now. 

_Fade into you._

“Hi, Taecyeon.” Minjun breathes, something like relief in his voice. 

_Strange you never knew._

Taecyeon can’t speak. He swallows. Minjun takes another shaky step forward, until he’s right in front of his chair. The lights overhead dazzle across his face, gold, and purple. Taecyeon’s mouth drops open a fraction. He hears his own heart racing. 

_Fade into you._

“Will you dance with me?” 

Minjun stands there, waiting, petrified. Taecyeon’s eyes burn, reminding him to blink. His palms are damp, and his lips tremble. He stands slowly, listening to his own hurried breaths. He stares down into the faint glimmer of hope in Minjun’s dark eyes, looks at his pretty mouth, his slim neck beneath a starched, white collar. 

And then he tears his eyes away— and walks out of the gym. 

_I think it’s strange you never knew._

* 

Taecyeon’s dad opens his acceptance letter before he even gets home from school. 

“Sorry, son. I couldn’t help myself!” He grabs him and pulls him in for a tight embrace, and Taecyeon sighs, arms around his dad. _I got in,_ he realizes, nose against his dad’s shoulder. The best thing about this is the hug. 

The days leading up to spring finals, Taecyeon can’t bring himself to look across the street. 

He does his homework in his bedroom, and the smell of his parents’ coffee in the morning makes him sick. First period, like Nichkhun said all those months ago, is agony. Nichkhun doesn’t even snicker whenever Mrs. Lee says Shakespeare anymore. He just peers at Taecyeon silently, and pays attention for once. 

The morning of Commencement, Taecyeon’s parents let him ride in Nichkhun’s new car to the arena where it’s being held. The drive is silent. Taecyeon knows he should say something along the lines of an apology, but everything sits, stuck, a ball in his chest. Nichkhun parks, and they both get out. They drape their robes over their arms and begin the long walk inside. 

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Nichkhun asks after a while, and Taecyeon turns to look at him. Nichkhun's sunglasses hide his eyes. He sighs.

“I don’t know.” 

Nichkhun stops walking, and Taecyeon groans. He’s irritated with everything, but mostly himself. He stops, too, head bowed. 

“What, so— So you like him and he likes you?” 

Taecyeon stares at the asphalt, clenching his teeth. He digs his hands into his pockets, the sun hot on the back of his neck. 

“Did you think I’d judge you?” Nichkhun asks, and the insecure note in his voice almost makes Taecyeon brave enough to meet his eyes. He shakes his head. 

“I didn’t know what you’d think.” 

He hears Nichkhun sigh. Cars roam by, horns honk in the distance. Other kids from their class whoop and cheer as they head inside to line up for the procession. 

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Nichkhun finally scoffs, and Taecyeon does look up at that, confused. Nichkhun is shaking his head in disbelief, and there’s anger in his eyes when he snatches his sunglasses from his face. “I’d never judge you, man. Not for anything. I love you like you’re my brother.” 

Taecyeon’s chest tightens, and Nichkhun stares at him, hard. Hurt. “You know that, right?” 

Taecyeon nods guiltily. He does now. 

His valedictory speech goes by in a blur, and he feels like something living outside his own body. He barely registers shaking the principal’s hand, or smiling for a photo when he receives his diploma. And when Minjun gets up to sing the alma mater to close out the ceremony, Taecyeon sits, hunched over his own lap, fingers locked tight together, unable to look up at that face until the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minjun's poem comes from translated lyrics to "With You," from his album Love and Hate.
> 
> The song at the dance is "Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star. You can listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImKY6TZEyrI
> 
> Please stay tuned for Part 3!

**Author's Note:**

> Minjun's poem is the English translation of "Alive". Taecyeon's is "Fight". Parts are embellished to seem more poem-like, but I am not a poet. XD Everyone who hasn't read Grendel and Beowulf definitely should.


End file.
